East Hope (43 page)

“You do what you want to do,” Mr. Perry said. “I'm responsible for these students, and I don't want you in this program.”

“Maybe,” Janet Wiseman said, “once we hear from the college—”

“The matter is closed,” Mr. Perry said. “Don't attempt to contact the Thomas family either.”

Will put on his coat and stormed out of the office. When he reached the parking lot, a few flecks of snow were already starting to fall.

T
he morning after Caroline discovered Harry's letter, all of East Hope was buried in a white world. It had snowed steadily since the previous afternoon, and the wind continued to blow hard. Drifts were growing deep against the side of the house. The house felt cool to her, and she realized that the furnace had not clicked on since she had come downstairs that morning. She called Vern and he promised to get over to take a look within the next few hours.

Her body felt like one large, dull ache, as if Harry's words had soaked into her very muscles. Regret permeated her every thought. Harry had always loved her. She had been the one who had forgotten how she had loved him. She had closed herself off from Harry, allowing an invisible barrier to remain between them. She cried most of the night. When she awoke, nothing had changed. The house was cold.

Her mother was driving up next week to arrive in East Hope before Christmas. By then the roads would be cleared. At least this storm had come at a convenient time. Caroline began her grocery list for Christmas, first making a list of the staples she would need for baking. Her mother loved her recipe for rum cake, and Rob would want shortbread with orange zest, his favorite. That is, if he came. She thought of the unanswered e-mails. At this point she could not expect him to come; all she could do was hope.

Caroline went to the cupboard to see if she needed vanilla and stopped at the window to look out at the snow. They rarely had big snowstorms in Chevy Chase. She pressed her face to the glass, feeling the pinch of cold against her forehead. One winter day when Rob was only six, maybe seven, over a foot of snow had covered the city, surprising everyone.

Harry had brought his childhood sled down from the attic. He'd carefully sanded and oiled the rust-tinged runners, and the three of them, attired in layers of sweaters and jackets, had walked to a neighborhood golf course, where a huge hill behind the clubhouse was quickly filling with children.

During the course of the morning, parents gathered outside to watch the children knife through the deep snow, creating faster and faster descents to the bottom. Caroline could still remember the riotous colors of winter hats and mittens, rosy-cheeked children, along with shouts, laughter, and runny noses. Harry had shown Rob how to position himself on the sled, advising him to keep his head down, and how to use his hands to steer, and then gave his son the running push that launched him down the hill. Rob had loved having Harry beside him, beseeching his dad on every descent to push the sled off faster and faster.

They had been a family then, possessing that precious invisible bond. Had they come home after sledding for hot chocolate or soup for lunch? Rob loved split pea, unusual for a child. The discovery of Harry's letter forced her to look back. Grace had died several years before, yet that morning surely they had been happy.

Caroline moved away from the window and put the kettle on for a cup of tea. When the water boiled she poured it, then wrapped her hands around the steaming mug and went to the living room to sit in the patch of sun in the increasingly chilly house. She covered herself with a soft woolen throw that she carried from room to room over the course of the morning. Her baby, now so large, and moving less, pushed gently into her ribs. She felt her worries fade. That small gesture from the mysterious creature within her was the one thing she could look forward to now.

It was almost noon when the telephone rang, breaking into Caroline's thoughts and the cold silence of the house. She hurried to the kitchen to pick it up.

“Mom's not coming.” Darcy's voice came as a surprise. Caroline had thought it might be Vern calling about the furnace.

“What do you mean?” She clutched the phone and sat at the table.

“She fell on the ice walking to her car.”

“Is she all right?”

“Her hip is broken,” Darcy said, her tone matter-of-fact. “At her age it's serious. We're at the hospital now.”

Caroline listened to Darcy's account of her mother's fall. How could this have happened? Peg, her darkly tanned legs nimble on the tennis courts summer after summer, had become fragile and old.

“I'll come home then,” Caroline said. “Mom's going to need help. And it's Christmas.”

“You shouldn't travel now. Your being here would only worry Mom more.”

“But I won't have any family here.”

“Rob's coming to you, isn't he?”

“I don't know. He still won't talk to me.” Caroline hated saying this out loud, as if by her uttering her deepest fears, they would all come true.

“He'll come around,” Darcy said.

Caroline heard the doubt in her sister's voice. More than anything she wanted to have Rob with her in Maine. Somehow, she thought, if he could just be with her in East Hope, away from everything, they could find a way to start over. She was growing more and more frustrated and impatient with him. She had sent him information on flights along with the train and bus schedules from Philadelphia to Portland, but he still hadn't called or told her his plans. Her initial sadness when he didn't show up at Thanksgiving was giving way to anger. It was time for him to stop being upset.

Caroline promised to call her mother once she was home from the hospital. She hung up the phone and went to look at the thermostat. It registered sixty-one degrees. Where was Vern? Had he forgotten about her too? She pulled her cardigan across her belly. And now her mother wasn't coming. God—this baby. What the hell was she doing? Having this baby was making everything impossible. She had been such a fool.

The snow had stopped completely when Vern banged on the back door a few hours later. Caroline greeted him with relief. She had been dreading the possibility of having to go through the night without heat.

“First I'll have a look at the boiler down in the cellar,” he said. He stomped the snow off his boots, his face red with cold, and headed to the basement. Caroline heard him tapping on pipes and after a few moments he reappeared.

“Can't see anything wrong yet. Let me take a look at the thermostat.” Caroline followed him into the hall. The clock bonged two o'clock, and despite a weak wash of sun now coming through the windows, the house felt as cold as the inside of the refrigerator.

“Ayuh. Here's your problem.”

“The thermostat?”

“Gummed up, looks like.” Vern had removed the casing from the wall, and he blew heartily into the workings before pushing a small lever. Caroline heard the boom of the boiler in the basement below them. “This'll do for now, but I'm going to get you another one.”

“Vern, you're an angel.”

“Don't know if Dottie would agree with that.” He grinned at her. “How 'bout I stop by in the morning?”

“Wonderful,” Caroline said. The radiators were sputtering back to life.

“Speaking of Dottie,” Vern said as he put the casing back on the old thermostat, “she asked me to invite you and your family to the house for Christmas dinner.”

Caroline explained that her mother wouldn't be coming because of her hip, and Vern quickly said that she and Rob would be more than welcome. “Dottie won't take no for an answer.” Caroline, grateful for his kindness, thanked him and saw him to the back door.

As the house warmed she felt her mood improve. She could manage without her mother. She would give Rob a good Christmas. Of course he would come. They needed time together, that was all. Last summer Melanie had made it hard for Caroline to connect with her son. Here in East Hope they would have hours by the fire to talk. They could rent videos and watch some of the old movies they used to enjoy.

She decided to spend the afternoon baking shortbread cookies. Her body warmed from the work of incorporating the butter and sugar, and by the time she had mixed in the flour the kitchen had heated up too. She rolled the dough out on a big wooden board and reached for an old-fashioned cutter in the shape of a heart. The first few stuck to the board and broke when she lifted them to the cookie sheet. Broken hearts, she thought. She pulled the dough back together, kneaded it once more, and rolled again. This time she cut the shapes and lifted them without difficulty.

Rob would like Vern and Dottie, and she wanted to introduce her son to Hollis and Will. She would invite them all for another dinner, maybe a Sunday lunch after Christmas. She wanted Rob to meet her friends and to see that she had a life in Maine. Indeed, her small world here was sustaining her.

She put a second tray of shortbread in the oven. After setting the timer she walked through the dining room and into the hall. The sun shone on the snow. The world outside dazzled in its whiteness. The bay was a deep blue. The pleasure of thinking of Will and inviting him again for a meal brought back the memory of his kiss. What would have happened if she hadn't pushed him away? Many weeks later, that evening by the fire seemed more like something imagined, a dream she tried to summon forth upon waking. It was easier to remember their more recent meeting, when Will had taken her to see Dr. Carney, her worry on the trip to Ellsworth, and the ride home, when being with Will had made her feel safe, less alone.

Why not call him? Maybe he would be in East Hope for Christmas too. After five rings his answering machine picked up.

“Hello,” she said, trying to sound assured. “I'm going to make the German Jam Bars recipe from the book of teatime treats. Maybe you'd like to come for a tasting? It's Caroline,” she added, feeling silly. “Give a call when you have a moment.”

After hanging up she went back to her baking. She would send some of the jam bars to her mother too, along with the rum pound cake.

The rest of the afternoon passed quickly, with smells of butter and sugar baking and filling the kitchen. The book she'd been reading about pregnancy spoke of the final burst of energy, the nesting instinct that often clicked in toward the end of a pregnancy. Tired, but pleased with her accomplishment, Caroline crawled into bed before nine. The night was still and the sky filled with stars; the moon, half-full, was bright. She was just dozing off when the phone on the bedside table startled her awake.

“Caroline. Richard here.”

Harry's father. He had been so kind when she called to tell him about having the baby. After Rob had reacted so terribly to the news, Caroline knew that she had to tell her father-in-law everything. The conversation had not been easy. He had been quiet at first, but then understanding. He remembered when she had lost Grace, and he had told her that at his age you learned not to judge.

“Richard, it's good to hear your voice,” she said, fighting off a sense of worry. She fumbled to light the lamp, but couldn't find the switch.

“I'm not sure you're going to like what I have to say.”

“Is something wrong?” She pushed up onto her elbow.

“Just had a call from Rob.”

“Is he okay?” She felt a surge of adrenaline and was now fully alert.

“Hasn't he been in touch?” Richard asked.

“No. He hasn't. He's been pretty upset with me.”

“I gathered that.” She heard him clearing his throat. “He asked to come here for Christmas.”

Caroline didn't move. At first she couldn't speak. Another phone call with more bad news. “But I need him with me. I need him to come home.”

“He said Maine wasn't home and that it would upset him to see you.”

What could she say to that?

“I know this is tough,” Richard said. “I'll try to make him understand. I can always put him on a plane from here. He's in the middle of exams right now and not thinking clearly.”

“I wish everything could be the way it used to be.”

“I know,” he said, as if trying to soothe her.

“I've done so many things wrong.” At this point she could no longer speak. She fell back onto her pillows.

“What matters, Caroline, is that you're trying to make things right.”

She shook her head. Rob was all she had of Harry, all that was left of their life together. Alone in the dark house, far away in Maine, she felt her future seemed impossible.

Richard asked again when the baby was due. She told him early in February, and a few minutes later he said good night, promising to stay in touch.