East Hope (25 page)

“Have some more tomatoes,” Caroline said, lifting the platter. She had bought them this morning at the farmers' market, along with fresh corn on the cob.

Rob reached across the table, and Caroline noted how his forearms were muscled and strong-looking, the arms of a man, no longer those of a boy.

He passed the plate to Melanie. “It's getting late,” he said, giving Melanie a look that seemed meant for her alone.

“Your mom made a peach tart for dessert,” Melanie said. She sat with her back to the house, her face in shadow. Despite the darkness, Caroline knew her expression would be willing and kind, the corners of her wide eyes lifted in concern. She had been a quiet and ideal guest, moving easily into their lives; she was as fluid as the sound of her name. A lovely young woman almost as tall as Rob, with silky light brown hair, Melanie could not be faulted. And yet, because of Melanie's presence, Caroline's time with Rob was not the same. With no chance of their being alone together, Caroline's joy in being with Rob was in some way diluted.

“Can we have dessert later, Mom? Jim needs a ride to the party.”

Melanie and Rob had been late coming back from tennis, and it had taken a long time for the charcoal to get hot enough to grill. The chicken had been delicious, and worth the wait, but now they were in a hurry. “Of course,” Caroline said, determined to keep any disappointment from her voice. “I'll leave the tart on the counter.”

A few minutes later they carried their dishes into the kitchen. Melanie began to load the dishwasher.

“I'll do these,” Caroline said. “You two go on.”

“Thanks, Mom.” Rob bent and kissed her cheek. “Great dinner.” He smelled of shampoo and he wore jeans and a pressed shirt. His browned feet slapped lightly in well-worn flip-flops. Taking Melanie by the hand, he started down the hall to the front of the house.

Melanie looked back at Caroline, lifted her shoulders, and offered a smile of apology. “I guess we're off then,” she said. She turned to Rob, but called back, “Thanks for dinner. See you in the morning.”

Caroline heard Melanie's light steps as she went upstairs to get something for the evening—her handbag or maybe a sweater. Melanie was staying in the guest room directly above the kitchen. Her duffel bag, partly unpacked, lay open on the luggage rack by the window, and other clothes were strewn across the loosely made-up bed. Despite the separate rooms, Caroline was certain that they were lovers—from the small gestures, a touch here and there, the knowing way they looked at each other. A sexual energy glowed between them like an aura.

One night she had come into the small den off the living room where they kept the television. Rob and Melanie had rented a movie. They had all been to a neighborhood barbecue earlier, and Caroline, tired from several hours of standing and visiting with the neighbors, had been eager to go to bed. She went into the den to say good night. Rob and Melanie sat together on the sofa, as closely side by side as if they were sewn together like two rag dolls, leg to leg, hip to hip, and arm against arm. Rob's hand rested on Melanie's thigh as if it belonged there. They both got to their feet, and Rob gave Caroline a perfunctory hug before sitting beside Melanie once again.

Caroline had retreated awkwardly, wishing she hadn't gone in to say good night. Once, years ago, when she came home from college, her mother told her not to bother Darcy and Walter, who were alone in the living room. “You don't want to be
de trop
.” The words had stung at the time, and Caroline realized that despite the pleasant days she was having with Rob and Melanie, it was really she who was
de trop
.

Caroline put the leftover chicken and tomatoes into the fridge and covered the bowl of couscous. Rob might help himself to more when he got back from the party. That and the peach tart. It glistened under an apricot glaze on the counter. She thought she might have a piece herself after she finished the dishes, and sit once more in the garden. A few minutes later she heard the front door bang closed and the sound of her car going down the driveway. They were gone. She doubted they would even think of her now that they'd left the house. They were off in their own world: college friends, parties, time by themselves, a place where she didn't exist.

Once the dishes were done, Caroline turned out the lights and stood by the sink looking out at the garden. Grace's lilac bush stood illuminated by the moon. No longer hungry, Caroline decided against cutting into the peach tart. She thought for a moment of the Maine sky. There, she would see not only the moon, but also the glittering of stars. The city lights in Washington obscured the stars here.

And Will. What would he be doing now? Again, Caroline was filled with regret, remembering how she had sent him on his way after their day together in July. He had only wanted to be friends. She pictured the slant of his eyes and imagined the feel of his hair soft against her hands. A familiar surge of loneliness welled in her.

The doorbell rang, a jarring interruption in the silent house. Had Rob and Melanie forgotten something? But they had a key and would not ring the bell. Caroline looked out the living room window, across the lawn, and to the street. A black BMW was parked at the curb. She stopped. The bell rang a second time, longer and more insistent. She went to the door.

“Are you by yourself?” Pete asked.

Speechless, she stood at the open door. It had been a week since she had told him about the baby.

“We have to talk, Caroline,” he said. “I took a chance. Thought that Rob might be out with his friends.” Pete had deep circles under his eyes. He wore a polo shirt, untucked, and faded khaki shorts. Caroline found herself staring at his bare legs. “May I come in?”

She nodded and stood aside. He walked past her to the living room, and she thought it amazing how the casual clothes—sloppy, almost, something he would have thrown on after a day at the office—made him seem smaller, more vulnerable. She resisted the urge to reach out for a casual hug. Having been intimate that once, not so long ago, precluded their habitual greeting.

“Marjorie?” Her voice felt weak. She swallowed.

“Nantucket. I'm going to join her this weekend. The kids are already there.”

“I see,” she said. “Would you like something to drink?” That instant she wished she could have a stiff drink herself, something to dull her senses.

He shook his head. “Where's Rob?”

“He and his girlfriend left for a party. Please,” she said, and gestured toward the sofa.

He went to sit down, and Caroline could feel the tension of that May night coming back—the memory of his hands on her skin, the sense of letting go of everything, of feeling desired after months alone. Being in this room again with Pete jolted her to the realization that the baby was indeed his, not some magical whisper of life, not hers alone, but a small being fathered by this man. Pete. She sat in the wing chair across from him. Of course he would come to talk to her. She had to stay strong. Having him in her living room only reminded her of how vulnerable she once was.

“I'm rarely taken by surprise,” he said. “My God, Red.”

“I'm sorry to have shocked you. I never imagined this could happen. Harry and I had given up on ever having more children.” She felt like a schoolgirl trying to make up excuses for not doing her homework. “It was wrong for us to have . . . I mean, I didn't think—”

“I've thought about you all summer.”

“Pete—”

“Wait. Hear me out.” He sounded again like the businessman he was. Tough. In control. “The last few days I kept thinking of what you were doing. How you decided to have this child. It makes no sense. You know that. I know that. The money, of course. But Rob? I don't think he's going to take it very well. What kid would?”

“I'm going to tell him.”

“Of course you are. You're being so strong. I'm still trying to get a handle on all this.”

“First I have to tell him about the house. Why we have to sell.”

“That's nothing compared to your having a baby. I'm worried for you, Red.”

Caroline sat rigid and listened. The room was dark. In her panic at seeing him again she hadn't bothered to turn on a lamp. It was odd, really. Here they were again in her living room in the dark. Her hands had tightened into fists.

His voice grew soft. “You're being incredibly brave. I've hardly slept for thinking about you. It's like there's a side to you I've never known. I'm truly amazed at what you're doing.”

She stared at him. “You are?”

“But you've got to let me help.” He stood and turned on the lamp next to her. He reached into his pocket and took out a folded piece of paper. “It will take time to arrange for more, but here's twenty thousand.” He handed her what she could now see was a check.

“I don't want your help,” Caroline said, not taking the check. She got up and walked to the hall. “I told you I don't expect anything. . . .”

“I know you don't expect anything,” he said, following her. “I want to give it to you. You need it. I know that better than anyone.”

“You're wrong.” Suddenly it became easier to talk. “I'm putting this house on the market. I'm going to stay in Maine for a year. I've got it all figured out. I don't need your money.” Caroline suddenly felt stronger. “I've learned a lot in Maine. I want to support myself and be independent. I need to do this on my own.”

He stared at her, then shook his head. “I think you're taking on more than you can handle.” He stepped toward her.

Caroline crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the banister. Less than an hour before, Rob's carefree footsteps had echoed in the hallway. “I know you want to help. I appreciate what you're doing, but it would be simpler if we just ended this now.”

“End it? How can you say that? This is only the beginning. We're talking about my child too. How do you think I feel? It's more than just the responsibility.”

Pete drew his hand through his hair, cut shorter than she remembered. He appeared to be earnest, as if he really cared. “You can't just leave town, go to Maine, and start over.” He placed his hand on the banister, moving closer to her. “I think you're fooling yourself. It's not that simple.”

“Please,” she whispered. It would be so easy to give in to him, to have him hold her. He was kind. He seemed to want her in spite of everything. Yet, she didn't want to be taken care of anymore. She pictured the house in Maine, lifted her chin, and met his gaze. “I'm going back to East Hope.”

“Is that really what you want?”

She nodded her head to indicate yes. All she wanted now was to be left in peace.

“I don't know.” His voice cracked as if he might break down. He took a deep breath. “I can't stop you from going to Maine. But I won't forget that this is my child. At least take the money.” He offered the check again.

“No.” She kept her arms tucked around her.

“You can always change your mind.” He shoved the check back into his pocket and moved toward the door. He paused and spoke again. “I care for you, Red. I'm part of this too. Don't forget that.” He pulled open the door and went out.

She crossed to the window and watched as he got into his car. The night was clear and dry, like a Maine summer night. Her baby was also Pete's child. That connection weighed on her like a stone around her neck. Caroline looked again at the night sky and felt the coldness of the moon.

The next morning Caroline met Vivien for coffee at the Coffee Break, a nearby café. They had not seen each other since Caroline had taken her to the airport in Maine. When she had called about delivering the finished manuscript for the cookbook, Vivien had suggested meeting at the café because she had painters working at home and her entire home office was boxed up in her living room. Vivien didn't usually have the time to meet with her writers. Caroline knew she was seeing her now more as an old friend.

“It looks great.” Vivien leafed through the manuscript pages. “I've got a good person lined up to do the illustrations,” she said. “Her work is charming. I think you'll like it.” They were both nursing large cups of café au lait and had opted to sit inside the restaurant and avoid the surge of rush-hour traffic booming noisily along Connecticut Avenue.

Caroline was relieved to have finished the project and glad Vivien had taken the time to see her. “I wanted to have it done in time to bring it to you in person.”

“So,” Vivien said, “ahead of schedule.” She looked the same as ever, but she remained cool and professional. “I'm impressed.”

Caroline gathered her courage and looked Vivien in the eye. “I feel terrible about the argument we had.” Caroline still regretted accusing Vivien of not understanding her wanting to keep her baby. Vivien might not be a mother, but she was a daughter; she had a loving husband. She understood the intractable power of human bonds. Accusing Vivien of not understanding the yearning that possessed Caroline that summer had been unfair. “I'm so sorry, Vivien.”