East Hope (26 page)

“How are you getting on?”

“I saw my doctor earlier this week. She gave me hell, of course, for not coming in sooner.” Caroline smiled at Vivien and thought she saw a glimmer of understanding. “Everything looks fine. I'm set to switch to a doctor in Maine. I'm due in early February.”

“A winter baby.” She smiled.

“Having a baby is a different business now. A lot's happened in nineteen years.” She told Vivien about the series of tests she would need to have, but how it had been a relief to learn that her situation was not all that unusual, being pregnant at forty-four. “I'm not the dinosaur I thought I'd be,” she added.

“How has Rob taken the news?”

“He's had his girlfriend visiting all week.”

“You haven't told him?”

“There hasn't been a good time. They sleep all morning and are out the rest of the day. I also haven't told him that I'm going to sell our house.” Caroline quickly explained about the balloon payment and her plan to put the house on the market.

“But he knows about Harry's losses?”

“Some of it. I told him that money was tight.”

Vivien leaned forward and rested her elbows on either side of her cup. “Caroline, you've always hated confrontation. I know you.” Her voice was kind. She was acting like a friend once again. “You mustn't put it off. He's leaving soon for college. He has to be told.”

“I know,” she said. “I just dread telling him.”

“Caroline,” Vivien said, heaving a sigh. “First, we need some of those really great brioches. What are we thinking by only drinking coffee in this place?” Like her old self, Vivien bustled off to the counter to buy the wonderful egg-rich rolls for which the Coffee Break was known. When she returned, Caroline told her all that had been happening since her return home: Pete's visit and his unexpected kindness, his willingness to help.

“I don't want Pete to be part of this,” Caroline said. “I know he's not happy with Marjorie. Still, I don't want to be responsible for what might happen. I don't love him. We're old friends. He's fond of me. Nothing more.”

“It sounds like he's more than just fond.”

“He seems to think that we grew close working together on Harry's estate.”

“Did you?”

“He's just carried away by all that's happened. That's why it's better that I go away.”

“I can't believe we're talking about your life,” Vivien said. She wiped her buttery fingers on her napkin. “But we are, and we've got to get you through this.” She no longer seemed angry with Caroline and began to offer advice. “Rob won't want to live in Maine. When he's home from college he'll want to be near his friends. Why don't you rent a small house here?”

“Under Marjorie's nose?” Caroline pushed her plate away. “What would everyone think? You know they'd figure it out. Arthur and Julia were at that dinner. Remember?”

“What Rob thinks should be your first concern.”

“Of course he's my concern.”

“Then tell him. He may have an opinion about what you should do. You need to treat him like a grown-up.”

Caroline listened and agreed. How could she not? “Vivien. There's something else I wanted to talk about. I have an idea for a cookbook. My own, this time. Remember what I told you about Lila's old cookbooks? There are some amazing recipes with wonderful old-fashioned names. I'd like to do something with them. Maybe a vintage collection, a sort of retro look at New England or even Maine cookery.”

Caroline could see she had caught Vivien's interest. “It would be a sort of cultural history,” she went on. “Maybe including photographs of old farm kitchens or the landscape itself? Remember the great farm stands we saw when you visited?”

“I'm not sure World Life would be the right publisher,” Vivien said. “They usually stick to instructional series.” She finished the last of her brioche. “It's an idea, though. A different slant. Why don't you work on a proposal? You'll need to find an agent first. I have a few contacts in New York.”

“I'd be grateful for any ideas.”

“Don't get too excited. The cookbook market is pretty saturated. Still, this is a little different. There's a strong trend back to the ‘real' food of our grandmothers going on. Your idea might fit. The right photography could add a lot too.”

Besides the pleasure of searching for old recipes, Caroline had the niggling hope that she might be able to make some real money if she could produce a book. More than that, working would take her mind off her problems. If she could just get through the next few weeks.

“Why didn't you say anything before?” Rob pushed back from the table. They were eating an early dinner in the kitchen. He had taken Melanie to the airport that morning and had spent the rest of the day running errands and packing. Jim was picking him up in the morning and they were driving together back to college.

“Sweetie, Melanie was here and I didn't want to upset you.” Caroline had explained to Rob about the balloon payment and her plan for the house.

“You're telling me the night before I leave for school that we have to sell our house?”

“Of course it's upsetting.”

“I thought selling the house in Maine would be enough.”

“I'm afraid not. We need the money from this house because of the balloon payment. Eventually I'll sell the house in Maine too. We'll be able to buy something smaller here.”

“I don't want another house.” He stood up, knocking back his chair. “I want to be here. This is where Dad lived. Don't you care about that?”

“Of course I care.”

“You should have told me sooner.”

Pain and confusion filled his voice. He had lost his father and now he was losing the place he'd grown up in. In all fairness, certainly she could understand his feelings.

“This is just temporary. For a while Maine will be our home.”

“It's not my home,” he said. “Give me a break, Mom.”

“I'm so sorry, Rob. There's another reason I want to—”

“Fine. Okay. Sell the house. See if I give a shit.” He stalked out of the kitchen and called back, “I'm going out.”

Caroline was in bed trying to read when he returned. All she could think about was how to tell him she was pregnant. A myriad of explanations swirled in her head. It was just after ten. He stopped in her room.

“I'm sorry I blew up, Mom.”

“It's okay, sweetie. I was wrong not to have told you sooner.”

“I know it's hard for you too.” He bent and kissed her cheek.

“I'll put everything in storage,” she said. “Once we have another place it won't be so bad.”

“Let's not talk about it now, okay?” He walked toward her door. “Did Melanie call the house?”

“No. No one called.” She swallowed. “Rob, there's something more—”

“I've got a lot on my mind right now. Good night, Mom.” He stepped into the hall, seeming not to hear. She heard him retreat to his room, his door closing.

Again, she'd lost her nerve. Pete was wrong. She wasn't brave at all.

By the end of the following week Caroline had accomplished almost everything she wanted. The Tuesday after Labor Day the house would officially be on the market. Sara Josephs, her Realtor, had put the shiny FOR SALE sign in the garage in readiness. Sara had also suggested that Caroline have a professional crew do a major cleanup of the garden. The real estate market in this neighborhood of Chevy Chase was especially strong, and the attractive landscape was one of the selling points.

Room by room, Caroline had cleaned and organized, packing away personal mementos, clearing out closets, uncluttering countertops, doing her best to make the house look fresh and appealing. Several boxes of cookbooks and photographs were already packed and in her car, ready to go to Maine.

Rob had been at school for a week. He seemed a little preoccupied, but at least he had returned her phone calls to let her know that he was okay. Getting the house ready was much easier with him away. She knew he didn't want to talk any more about giving up their home. When she called to ask if it was okay to throw out a box of old soccer trophies that were on a shelf in the basement he answered brusquely, “I don't care. Do whatever you want. I don't want to hear about it.” His way of coping was to distance himself from her, and for now she would have to accept it. Her way of coping was to keep her mind on one task at a time.

On the day of her departure she awoke just before dawn. Instinctively she ran her hands across her belly. It was there: a gentle roundness filling the cavity between her hip bones. The pregnancy was real. Instead of feeling anxious or uncertain, today she felt calm and resolute. She got out of bed thinking she might as well get started.

This time she wanted to drive to Maine without stopping for the night, and doing the thirteen hours straight was not going to be easy. Still, it was easier than seeing her mother again and having to admit that she hadn't told Rob the truth. She had told herself she would talk to Rob after he had had a few weeks to get settled into school.

Still in her nightgown, she walked through the silent house. In the early hour each room was bathed in a bluish haze. From time to time she paused, straightening a lamp shade, plumping a cushion, tossing away an old magazine. Everything was neat and impersonal, ready for the intruding eyes of potential buyers. She went into Harry's office. What Rob had said was true. Even with many of the personal items packed and put away, something of Harry seemed to linger there. When the house was sold that would be lost too. Forever.

She walked behind the desk and sat in his chair, a wooden Windsor style. They'd found it together in an antique shop in Pennsylvania. Caroline had made a bargello needlework cushion for the seat. Her mother had shown her how to do the stitches, and she had worked on it during her pregnancy with Grace. That had been a time of waiting. Waiting for Rob to get up from his nap, waiting for Harry to get home for dinner, waiting for Grace. She had never done needlework after that.

Sitting here now in silence, she tried to remember the sound of Harry's voice. How quickly everything was starting to fade. Like the cushion she sat on. She stood and walked to the doorway and looked back at the empty chair.

She and Harry had had an argument in this room almost exactly a year before. Rob was at the beach with his best friends, the final week before they all left for college. Harry had been on the phone the entire evening talking to the people in California. His voice had been tense and angry. She had heard the name Sunil, quick bits of conversation, swear words amid other harsh language. Later, when Harry appeared to be off the phone, Caroline went in. With his elbows on his desk and his head cradled in his hands, he looked like a man weeping or possibly praying.