Critical Praise
“Jessica O’Dwyer gives us a story we’ve never heard before—one that manages to look with compassion and authenticity and grip-your-chair dramatic tension at the subjects of infertility, marriage, adoption, and most of all, motherhood. She takes us from the world of comfortable middle-class life to the mysterious, sometimes dark and sometimes beautiful and largely unknown territory of Guatemala, and gives a kind of heroine no reader is likely to have met on the page, until now: a mother willing to do anything to save her child. You will not put this book down until you’ve finished, and once you have, you will not forget it.”
— Joyce Maynard, best-selling author of The Best of Us
“Pain, loss, and love are showcased side-by-side, highlighting how motherly love goes beyond social status, country, and family background.”
—Rossana Pérez, editor of Flight to Freedom: The Story of Central American Refugees
“Jessica gives a very clear and knowledgeable panorama of Guatemala, from its colonial roots to today’s society pervaded with racism, classism, and an inoperative government. At the same time, she describes the sublime, real, and extremely hard truth of adoption. I could relate to each line as a Guatemalan and as an adoptive mom.”
—Cynthia M. Guerra, National Director of Education at the Ombudsman Office in Guatemala; human rights activist and educator
“At its heart, Mother Mother is a story of family, relationships, the bonds of blood and beyond. As O’Dwyer herself writes, ‘Love is an action, not a concept.’”
— Janine Kovac, author of Spinning: Choreography for Coming Home
MOTHER
MOTHER
MOTHER
MOTHER
A Novel
Jessica O’Dwyer
Copyright © 2020 by Jessica O’Dwyer
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission from the publisher (except by reviewers who may quote brief passages).
The characters, events, and dates in this book are fictitious. Any similarities to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. Adoptions from Guatemala closed in December 2007.
First Edition
Casebound ISBN: 978-1-62720-314-2
Paperback ISBN: 978-1-62720-315-9
Ebook ISBN: 978-1-62720-316-6
Printed in the United States of America
Design by Katherine Kiklis
Editorial development by Lauren Battista
Promotion plan by Lauren Battista
Cover artwork by Hugo González Ayala (Guatemalan, b. 1954) Nahualá (detail), courtesy of La Antigua Galería de Arte
Apprentice House Press
Loyola University Maryland
4501 N. Charles Street
Baltimore, MD 21210
410.617.5265
www.ApprenticeHouse.com
For Mateo, Olivia, and Tim
And in memory of my parents
ONE
SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA
FEBRUARY 2002
Julie Cowan was halfway to her car on the second level of the museum parking garage when the third contraction hit. Bracing herself against a steel pillar, she squeezed her legs together. Sweat drenched the backs of her knees. If she stayed still, she could keep time from moving forward. If she stayed still, she could keep the baby inside.
She’d left work early, panic mounting at the first cramping twinge. Her boss told her, Go. Whatever you need. Her husband was on a flight to Florida. No one was around.
She reached into her purse for her cell phone. Her OB’s receptionist answered on the second ring.
“I need help,” Julie said. “I’ve miscarried twice.”
“On a scale of one to ten, how would you describe the pain?” the receptionist asked.
“Eleven?”
“Hang tight. Doc will meet you at Emergency.”
The doctors couldn’t figure out what was wrong with her, why Julie couldn’t take a pregnancy to term. Just that she couldn’t.
They’d named this baby Rowan. She was at seventeen weeks, three days.
I can’t lose you, Julie thought. We won’t survive it. We love you. We need you. Stay with me.
Hanging up, she punched in 911. Rowan couldn’t come yet, she tried to tell the operator. It was too soon. Julie needed an ambulance.
“Can you count the seconds between contractions?” the operator asked.
“I’m sorry. I need to lie down. I’m in a garage.”
“A parking garage? What’s your exact location?”
“1202 Belmont. The Orrin Clay Museum.”
“Is there a floor or section number?” The operator’s voice sounded far away.
Julie pushed herself off from the steel pillar and lurched toward her car. She was so close.
Above and around her, a yellow light appeared, glimmering and radiant. It came from nowhere, turning the air golden. Julie reached for it, and her hand went straight through. She couldn’t catch it. Nothing was there.
Warm liquid flowed out between her legs, soaking her pants. She looked down, her vision a white blur.
She was empty. Rowan was gone.
SIX MONTHS LATER
REDWOOD GLEN, CALIFORNIA
AUGUST 2002
Julie sat with her laptop in the Cowan kitchen and gaped at the digital photo of a chubby infant with a tuft of curly black hair. Propped against a giant teddy bear and dressed in a blue onesie, Felix Fernando smiled enough to show two deep dimples and sparkling eyes. Julie’s heart raced. Without a doubt, Felix was the cutest boy who had ever been born.
“Eight pounds of bouncing energy at birth,” the email from Kate Hodges-Blair at Loving Hands Adoptions read. “Two-month-old Felix Fernando is yours if you want him.”
Eyes on the computer screen, Julie called out, “Mark, we got a baby.” Her voice broke on the last word. When her husband didn’t arrive in seconds, she ran down the hallway toward their bedroom to get him. His gray-flecked brown hair was still damp from his morning run; he hadn’t yet cooled down. Julie grabbed his hand and led him to the kitchen. “Can you believe how adorable this child is?” Julie said. “How did we get so lucky?”
Mark squinted for a closer inspection, while Julie stared harder at the screen, as if to memorize every pixel. “It all makes sense now,” she said. “The infertility, the treatments. Everything led us to here.”
They drank in Felix’s marvelousness, too overwhelmed to speak. He was a beautiful boy, healthy and robust. “Is this how it happens?” Julie finally whispered.
They both laughed quietly. The air felt sacred.
Julie scrolled through Kate’s email seeking more details. There weren’t many. Only