East Hope (36 page)

“Did you hear what I said?”

Darcy's voice brought Caroline back to the present. She stood by the stove waiting for the pan of cranberries to come to a boil, shifting from one foot to the other, aware of the weight of her belly. “Did Mom buy lemons?” Caroline asked. She had only been half listening to her sister, preoccupied by Rob's threat not to come for Thanksgiving. “I want to add some grated rind to the sauce after it thickens.”

“If it makes you happy to have a baby, that's fine with me,” Darcy said, more kindly. “But you haven't said anything about Rob. This has to be hard on him.”

“He's not very happy about a lot of things.” Caroline left the stove and rummaged in the produce drawer of the refrigerator, pulling out a dried-up-looking orange as well as a lemon. She carried the fruit to the counter and stirred the cranberries that were now beginning to pop. It was Wednesday afternoon. She had tried to reach Rob several times since he had stormed out of the house in Chevy Chase. He had never called back, despite her repeated messages. Now she could only hope that as Thanksgiving grew closer his anger might have lessened and he would still come to Connecticut. Before he knew about the baby he had agreed to come to his grandmother's house for the holiday after stopping one night in New York for a party. Once they were together she wanted to tell him more about Grace. In his angry departure he hadn't given her the chance to fully explain her decision.

Caroline and Darcy were alone together for the first time that day. Their mother had gone to the grocery store to buy nutmeg for the apple pie. The three of them had been working in the kitchen since morning, and once the cranberry sauce was finished, Caroline planned to escape for a rest.

“Mom said she's going to Maine for Christmas and staying on to help you with the baby.”

“Is there some problem with that?” Caroline sounded irritable and instantly regretted it. “You'll have your kids home and Walter and his family.”

Darcy resumed chopping more vigorously. “Mom's not getting any younger, and now, thanks to you, she has to traipse off to some godforsaken place to spend the winter.” Darcy's face was flushed, but as usual she looked perfectly in control in a gray cashmere sweater the same shade as her pants. Caroline felt like an elephant in her maternity jeans and the large plaid shirt that covered the turtleneck that had grown tight across her breasts.

“It's not a godforsaken place. You're only going to upset Mom if you keep saying that.”

“Mom's not as strong as she used to be. You haven't been around enough to see that.”

“I'm grateful you're close by. You do a lot.”

“Traveling isn't easy for her anymore.” She dumped the celery into the bowl of cubed bread.

“I know that. If I could travel then I would. I want to give Rob more of a family Christmas.”

Darcy emptied a bag of pecans into the stuffing and tossed the mixture with two wooden spoons. Caroline would have used her hands, but she said nothing. She grated the lemon into the dark red mixture in the pan and stirred. The fresh tang of the lemon would temper the sweetened cranberries.

“You amaze me,” Darcy said.

“What's that supposed to mean?” Caroline wiped up the spatters around the stove.

“The long Maine winter, living all by yourself, having a baby, no husband . . .”

“Please don't keep going on about it.”

“Girls!” They hadn't heard their mother come in. “I don't want to hear any more arguing.” She set one bag on the kitchen table along with a bakery box tied in white string. “Luckily, I remembered the rolls. Now we won't need to go out again today.”

Caroline's thoughts had turned to Lila. She'd lived alone winter after long winter. She had defied convention in her day too.

“What time is Rob's train, dear?” her mother asked.

Caroline put the sponge back beside the sink. “I think he's coming out from New York tomorrow afternoon,” she said quietly.

“Why is he spending tonight in New York?” Darcy asked.

“There's a party he wants to go to.” Caroline poured the cranberry sauce into a serving bowl.

“You spoil that boy,” Darcy said.

“Letting him go to a party? You call that spoiling him?”

“Girls, let's just enjoy this time together.”

“You're right, Mom,” Darcy said.

Caroline stretched plastic wrap across the top of the bowl. Steam clouded the fragrant red mixture. “Actually, there's a chance he won't even come.”

“What do you mean?” Peg asked.

“I didn't tell him about the baby until two weeks ago, when he came home before the move. He was furious. He said he didn't want to see me and wouldn't come for Thanksgiving.”

“Why didn't you say anything?” Darcy asked.

“I thought you told him about the baby last summer,” Peg said.

“I never told him. He was only home for a few weeks, and his girlfriend was there the whole time. He would have been upset no matter when I told him.”

“Though now it's much more real.” Darcy shot a quick look at Caroline's belly.

“I'm still hoping he'll come,” Caroline said. She went to the kitchen table, sat, and covered her face with her hands.

“I hope so too,” Peg said.

“What train was he supposed to take?” Darcy asked.

“Before all this happened he had planned to be on the one-o'clock.”

“I'm sorry,” Darcy said.

“I'm going to go lie down,” Caroline said.

“Of course,” her mother agreed. “You've been on your feet all morning.”

“I'm fine, Mom. I'm just a little tired.” Caroline stood and carried the cranberry sauce to the fridge. Turning to her mother, she bent and kissed her papery cheek. Darcy was right: Her mother seemed to have aged more lately, crossing the line from older to old woman.

“Will, you're not listening.”

Will looked up, startled. It was Thanksgiving afternoon, and he and Mary Beth were at L'Espoir, a French restaurant not far from her apartment. “I'm sorry,” he said, and looked down again at the narrow lavender-colored menu. “We should probably have the turkey. I mean, it is Thanksgiving,” he said as he continued to look over the menu, trying to find something in keeping with the American feast day.

Mary Beth sat opposite him on a velvet banquette wearing a gray sweater with a fur collar. She had cut her hair since her visit to Maine. The front pieces swept across her forehead, but the back was shorter than he had ever seen it.

“Why would they serve fig sauce with turkey?” he asked.

“You're grumpy because we're eating out.”

“Sorry,” he said again. “The butternut-squash-and-chestnut soup sounds good. I think I'll start with that.” He doubted that the pilgrims ate squash soup accompanied with chipotle cream.

Last night, when he finally got to the city after driving for ten hours, he couldn't seem to shake the gloom that had come over him. He thought about the friends he'd left behind in Maine, his work at the store, tutoring at the library, and Caroline. He hadn't even said good-bye. Though, what could he say? He'd made the decision to remake his life in New York with Mary Beth. Almost immediately, hoping to settle the rift between them, he apologized to Mary Beth again for buying Taunton's without consulting her.

“I'm willing to put that behind us,” she'd said. “We'll view it as an investment.”

“An investment?”

“I believe those were your words. Once you've found a job, you can arrange to rent it.”

“Yeah, I guess. . . .”

“Darling, you're here. We're going to forget all that.”

She had pulled him into her arms again.

Instead of going out for dinner, Mary Beth had ordered in from a Brazilian restaurant and made him a mojito. She was obviously trying to do her part too, and told him a funny story about a neighbor, who, wearing only his boxer shorts, had had to hunt for his cat that had escaped in the service stairwell. The poor man ended up having to climb eight flights before finding his pet, which had wandered into another apartment where the back door had been left ajar. Will knew Mary Beth was doing her best to coax him into a better mood and to make him happy in New York.

She had played a Brazilian CD, poured him a second drink, and then a third. After that they had made love. As in Maine, the physical part of their relationship worked fine.

Will had awoken on this Thanksgiving morning with a predictable headache. He had not minded initially when Mary Beth had told him that they would have dinner at a restaurant. Her tiny kitchen would have been a difficult place to roast a turkey. He only wished it had been a restaurant with a more traditional Thanksgiving menu. The gray-and-lavender color scheme of L'Espoir and the contrived French menu did nothing to inspire thoughts of an autumnal celebration of thanks.

The waiter came and took their order and served the bottle of champagne that Mary Beth said would go well with turkey.

“Here's to us,” she said, lifting her glass.

“Cheers,” Will said, and sipped. “Delicious. Anything will taste good with this.” He smiled across at her, determined to be cheerful. The restaurant was quiet, soothing.

“Remember how you used to read to me?” she asked.

He nodded. The memory rose in him from some far-off place. They had been two different people then.

“It was so lovely,” she said. “I'd come back frazzled from being on the road, totally numb from all the sales calls. You'd make a fire; I'd pour the wine.” She smiled at him. Her lips had a gleam from her lipstick or the champagne.

“I used to read from what I was teaching at the time,” he said. “Remember
Mrs. Dalloway?
”

“I do.” She laughed. “Your voice used to lull me to sleep. Maybe you'll read to me again. It would be something to look forward to after a hard day at the office.”

“I've started to look,” he said. “There aren't a lot of jobs where I could teach books like that.”

“Will, you're going to get a good job. You've got to think positively.”

He thought of her motivational sales meetings, the psychobabble of techniques that she insisted could move a person to the top of the corporate ladder. That would never fly in academia. He passed her the basket of rolls after taking one himself. He had a raw feeling in his stomach.

Mary Beth put her glass on the table and leaned toward Will. “You asked me to think about children,” she said.

Will pulled himself up straighter. “You mean our having children?”

“Of course. You brought it up. Remember? In Maine?”

Maine. Taunton's, the fading yellow clapboard building. His life in East Hope seemed very far away. “I've started to think about it,” he said, knowing that this question was still unresolved in his own heart. “I know we're not getting any younger and . . .” He reached for his champagne glass, not knowing where to go from here.

In Maine, when he and Mary Beth had made love, it made their marriage once again seem real, as if they could go forward. Yet could this woman opposite him, so calmly sipping champagne, be the mother of his children, their children? Sexy and sophisticated, Mary Beth was as beautiful now as she was when she had shown up in the undergraduate seminar on Henry James. The professor who was supposed to have taught the class had become ill, and Will, his doctorate completed except for the thesis, had been brought in to teach at the last minute. He had been attracted to her immediately, but had waited until after graduation before asking her out.

The waiter returned and set down two enormous flat bowls. The small amount of ocher-colored soup sported a slash of pink, like the drip from a paint can, and a thin sprinkling of chives.

“I do want children,” she said when they were alone again.

“That's good,” he said. “I guess I always assumed we'd have kids one day.” At that moment a vision of Caroline flickered in his mind, the last time he saw her, the night of her dinner party when she was flushed from cooking, her rounded belly prominent in the soft green dress, her eyes glowing in the firelight. He couldn't forget the moment at the end of the evening when he had bent and kissed her neck. What had come over him? Caroline had pulled away, justifiably, but there had been a second, maybe two, when she had placed her hands over his. At times he thought he had imagined it, but she had responded; she had covered his hands with hers.

“Still, we need to take it one step at a time,” Mary Beth said.

“What do you mean?”

“Do you want to have this discussion or not?” Tension had crept into her voice.