East Hope (22 page)

It was after six when they reached Lila's house. Caroline left Will on the porch and came into the kitchen to pour him a glass of wine. He'd carried the box of old cookbooks and the
Mrs. 'Arris
book into the living room and left it on her worktable. She had offered to pay him for the books, but he looked almost hurt at the idea, insisting that she have them.

The trip home in the car had gone quickly. Will told her about giving up teaching in Pennsylvania, wanting to make a change and live near the water to write his novel. Was there something he wasn't telling her about leaving his job? He spoke of teaching with enthusiasm, of how lucky he had been to find employment at a small liberal arts college, given the abundance of English literature PhD candidates struggling to find work. It didn't make sense that he would leave that behind.

Caroline opened the antiquated refrigerator. The old-fashioned handle wobbled, and she hoped it would last as long as she lived there. She took out an unopened bottle of sauvignon blanc, left over from Vivien's visit, and carried it to the counter by the sink. She poured a glass for Will and a glass of sparkling water for herself. The wine was the same golden color as the dwindling evening sun. The smell of the wine no longer nauseated her, but she avoided drinking because of the baby. Her baby. For a good part of the day she had completely forgotten about her pregnancy.

Caroline put the glasses on a tray and poured some mixed nuts into a dish. It had been a lovely day. The drive, the dusty private library, their picnic on the little beach had been like taking a field trip from school. Or like playing hooky. It had been so pleasant dozing on the rock beside Will.

Beside Will.
If only things were different. Caroline's life was now an endless list of if-onlys. If only she didn't need to sell this wonderful house, if only Harry hadn't lost almost all of their money; if only he had been truthful with her; if only he were alive. Caroline shivered, put a sweater over her shoulders, and carried the tray to the porch.

Will stood looking out at the water. “I can see Taunton's across the bay,” he said.

“I'm almost directly across from you when I stand on the front steps.” She set the tray down and handed him his glass. He had pulled on his sweater too, mussing his hair. He looked boyish again.

“I gather you're in Maine on your own?” She'd been meaning to ask this all day.

“Sorry?” He appeared not to have understood.

“I wondered,” she said, feeling ill at ease again. “You live by yourself, so I wondered if you've ever been married. It's none of my business really, it's just—”

“No. It's a reasonable question,” he said. His face drew in, accentuating the lines around his mouth. “I'm married.” He seemed to be searching for some kind of explanation. He stared out at the water. “My wife lives in New York City. We had a sort of commuter marriage while I was teaching. I'm afraid it wasn't really working.”

“I see,” she said.

“She travels a lot for her job. This summer she's in LA most of the time. She wanted me to come to New York. I decided to come here. I guess we're sort of separated.” He shook his head and stared down into his glass.

“That must be hard.” Caroline couldn't think of what else to say. It explained why he sometimes had a faraway, pained expression.

Will slumped down into a chair. “We both have different ideas of what we want the future to look like,” he said, and sipped his drink. “Hard to talk about.”

“I didn't mean to pry. I can see it makes you unhappy.” Caroline felt bad for Will. All his boyish exuberance seemed to evaporate. “So, tell me about your writing.”

Will took another sip of wine and leaned back. “Oh, God. There's almost nothing to tell.”

“You don't have enough time?” Turning to this topic only appeared to have worsened his mood.

“I wish it were that simple.”

“Maybe you're not writing about the right thing. My friend Vivien always says that if you don't love what you're writing, you certainly shouldn't expect anyone else to want to read it.”

They talked about writing, what he was trying to achieve, the importance of place, and how he wanted to capture his love of the water in the book. She asked him the kinds of questions that she hoped would be helpful. She told him how she wanted to do something with the old cookbooks, to find a way to make a story out of them. Will had a second glass of wine, and his face fell into shadow as the evening deepened. Their conversation gradually dwindled, and Will drew his hand to his chin. He rubbed it absently.

A moment later he spoke again. “Caroline, today was really great.” He put his glass on the table next to him. “Look. I'd like to see you again. Forgive me. That doesn't sound right. I'd really like to be friends. I don't know many people around here.” He leaned forward, his hands clasped. “Would you have dinner with me? Maybe Saturday?”

She shouldn't have been surprised. A chemistry had developed between them. Yet she couldn't let herself forget that she was pregnant. And he was married, at least for now. “Will.” She stood and felt a fluttering in her chest, like an awkward schoolgirl. “Today was lovely. But you see . . .” She tried to think fast. All he was asking for was friendship, yet there was an undercurrent of something more that could only lead to further entanglements. He had no idea of what had happened with Pete, or how she still had to explain her decision to have the baby to Rob. So many problems loomed. It wouldn't be fair to involve Will. “I've been through a lot lately,” she said.

“I know that. Your husband hasn't been gone for that long.”

“It's not only that.” She didn't want to hurt him, yet she knew some kind of attraction was there. She spoke more firmly. “It just isn't a good idea.”

“Another time?”

“No. It really isn't possible.”

His face took on a closed look. “I see.”

Caroline knew he was disappointed. The lovely connection that they had built slowly throughout their day together had collapsed.

“Well, I'll be going then,” he said.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “It was a wonderful day.”

“Yeah. It was nice,” he said quickly, and walked to the screened door. He opened it and left without looking back, disappearing into the dusk. She heard the car start a moment later and the lonely sound of the engine diminishing in the distance.

O
n a hot afternoon early in August Caroline drove toward Washington, leaving Lila's house for her other life. Maine, New Hampshire, and Massachusetts slipped behind her, and after crossing into Connecticut, in less than two hours she would reach her mother's house, her childhood home.

She had stopped once at a rest stop on the Mass Pike to use the restroom and eat a piece of cold quiche while leaning against the side of her car. The iced coffee that she had bought earlier was helping to combat the drowsiness that plagued her every day after lunch, and she continued to sip it, though the ice had melted. Coffee had not tasted good to her since she had been pregnant. Maybe it wasn't good for her either, but staying awake on the highway took priority for the moment. Hour after hour she had listened to the radio, and after endless accounts of dire news, another car bombing in the Middle East, the drought in the Southwest, and a hurricane heading toward the Caribbean, she had turned the radio off, not bothering to look for a station with music. The world's problems only depressed her. At the moment all she wanted was silence.

With every passing mile her dread grew sharper. How would she tell her mother? What, if anything, would she tell Pete? Most especially, how would she tell Rob the truth? The truth. Caroline felt a lump forming in her throat and reached again for her coffee. A sense of shame, like an illness, seeped into every pore of her body.

She had decided to stay in Maine for the winter and have her baby in East Hope. By renting the house in Chevy Chase for the year starting this September, she would be able to pay her mortgage and have a little extra money to live on. She hoped she had calculated correctly. Rob could join her in Connecticut at her mother's house for Thanksgiving, and they could be together again in Maine for Christmas. By then she would be too pregnant to travel. She tried to imagine the holiday in East Hope with snow on the ground, the river and the bay shimmering in crystalline winter light, and a fire crackling in Lila's living room hearth. The important thing was having Rob with her, being a family.

The baby should come in early February. The exact due date was on her list of questions for her doctor, that and the many other worries that had been tormenting her. She had started taking some over-the-counter vitamins, and she knew that being almost three months pregnant, she should have seen an obstetrician by now. She was an older mother. Her last child had not survived because of a rare heart problem, though at the time the doctors had reassured them that it was extremely rare, and unlikely to occur again.

The traffic grew heavier near Hartford. Caroline eased over one lane and watched for the exit for I-91. She forced herself to concentrate on the road, but a mental door had opened and all of her negative thoughts came rushing in. She pictured the dark Maine evenings, being alone in a cold house with a tiny infant. She would have to get up at night, her bare feet on an icy floor, and make her way to a crying baby. And what if the baby got sick?

Caroline would never forget the first time Rob became seriously ill. It was winter, and he must have been at least two years old, because they were living in the house in Chevy Chase. Harry had called it their “grown-up” house. Caroline had been hesitant to give up their tiny brick row house a few miles away, worrying that this new house was too expensive. It had been an extremely cold winter, and they had not yet replaced the old boiler in the basement. Harry's business was building slowly and they didn't have the money.

Around four that winter afternoon, Rob, who had been fussy for several days, began to pull at his ears. His fever spiked, and Caroline drove her screaming baby through the dark streets and rush-hour traffic, in a panic to reach the pediatrician's office before it closed. Rob was diagnosed with a double ear infection. The doctor told her to monitor the baby's fever and to call immediately if it worsened. On the way home she managed to carry the heavy, crying baby in and out of the drugstore to buy the large bottle of antibiotics.

After she got home, Rob, still hysterical, gagged on his first dose and spewed the pink liquid all over her and his crib. Eventually she managed to get some medicine in him and soothed him to sleep. She had called Harry once in the midst of this, but he'd been with clients from out of town and needed to attend a dinner. When he got home after eleven he had found her standing by the crib.

Harry bent and stroked Rob's cheek. “He doesn't feel too warm.”

She nodded. “I think the medicine is starting to work.”

“I'm sorry I couldn't get home,” he whispered. “Pete was away and I was the only one available.” He drew his arm around her waist. “Come to bed, Caro. He's going to be fine.”

They walked back to the bedroom and Caroline fell into bed, numb and exhausted from the hours of worry. A few moments later, as she was falling into sleep, she felt Harry draw close to her and kiss the nape of her neck. “I love you, Caro.”

Now, driving in increasingly heavy traffic, Caroline realized how little she had thought of Harry recently. This made her sad. What she had done with Pete and the decision to have this baby had somehow erased her earlier life. There had been many happy times in their home in Chevy Chase: watching Rob take his first steps in their sunny kitchen, hiding Easter eggs in the garden, Harry walking Rob through the dark streets dressed up as a dragon, while she remained behind passing out Halloween candy. Harry had stayed home to see Rob off on his first day of kindergarten. Even when Harry worked longer and longer hours he always made time for them on the weekends.

Caroline wiped the tears off her face with the back of her hand. This situation was just insane. It was not too late. She could change her mind.

Caroline exited from I-91 to the Merritt Parkway on the final stretch home to her mother. One night there and then on to Washington. The road, covered by a heavy canopy of trees, wound southward toward New York. Eventually she passed Westport, Darien, and Stamford, all the familiar places of her childhood. The outside temperature registered eighty-seven degrees. Maine seemed very far away. She needed to pee and was anxious to arrive, though part of her dreaded this first stop. Summer was coming to an end; the season of back to school, back to work, back to real life would arrive soon. Her exit in Greenwich loomed on her right. She slowed and turned onto the ramp.