Mystic Summer (19 page)

Emory Blanche Wilder, named after her great-grandmother on Cam's mother's side, was born during a winter storm in January, three weeks early. Lauren and Cam had just started their last semester of grad school. Aside from her small size and early arrival, she was perfect. A peachy-complexioned baby girl, with blue eyes and a small patch of golden downy hair on her head. The doctors did not realize right away that anything was wrong with her. It wasn't until her follow-up appointment at the pediatrician's when her parents mentioned to the doctor that her breathing seemed to change during feeding sessions, that anyone realized she had ASD.

“It's a congenital heart condition,” Cam explains, “called atrial septal defect. Basically, she has a hole in her heart.”

Hearing Cam say it out loud causes me to put a hand to my own. “What does that mean for her?”

“She was born with an opening in her septum. The blood flows between the two upper chambers of her heart.”

“Is that why I felt her chest swoosh? Like a river?”

Cam turns, his eyes flashing in the light from across the way. “You felt that?”

I nod in the growing darkness, wondering if I've said something too personal.

He looks away and runs his hand through his hair. “That's exactly how my mom describes it. Like a little river in her chest.”

Cam stares out at the river as he tells me their story, but I don't mind that he's not making eye contact. Because the more he shares the less I trust myself not to cry. “So, the first surgery she had at eight weeks old didn't seal the opening as we'd hoped. Usually they wait until babies are older and stronger, because the chance of a successful outcome is stronger, too. But Emory couldn't wait. She wasn't thriving. So now we're looking at having a catheterization done at Yale this summer. If it goes well, that will hopefully be our fix.”

I let his words settle on the warm night air around us. “I still can't believe all you've been through together. She's so little.”

Cam shakes his head. “Sometimes I can't, either.” But then he grins. “She's a tough little nugget. After that first surgery, when she was in recovery and coming out of sedation, we were a wreck. They'd let us in to be with her, and we just couldn't stop staring at her. I think I was holding my breath the whole time. And yet when she woke up, she smiled at both of us.”

Us
. “So, Emory's mom was still in the picture at that time.” It's something I've been wondering about since our first meeting on the pier.

Cam pauses, as if sifting through his thoughts. “It was complicated. We took a leave from school and came back to Connecticut,
specifically so that we could go to Yale's cardiac catheterization lab. Lauren and I got though Emory's procedure and recovery, but even afterward it was an awful time. Lauren hadn't planned to have a baby to begin with. And here she was walking away from everything she'd worked for in her life and trying to cope with having a really sick child. It was scary for both of us.”

As I listen to Cam, I'm a little taken aback by the credit he is giving Lauren—listing the few things she did right, before doing the most wrong thing a parent could do. Finally, he lets out a long breath.

“But yeah. To answer your question, Lauren left us shortly after. She couldn't handle it.”

My mind spins: Had Lauren left because she didn't want to be a parent? Or because she couldn't come to terms with being the parent of a sick child? But as the trill of peepers rises in the woods behind us, I realize it doesn't matter why she left. Cam stayed.

We lean over the railing, side by side. I set my bottle down and reach over. Cam's hand is chilly when I place my fingers across his.

“I'm sorry, Cam. I think it's really admirable the way
you're
handling all this.” Even having heard his story, it's still hard for me to wrap my arms around it. I can't help but think of Jane, and my two healthy nephews and niece.

Cam lifts one shoulder. “Emory is my focus, now. Keeping her healthy and happy and making sure that she's gaining weight—that's everything. Until the next procedure. And then we'll do it again.”

The heaviness of our conversation seems out of place against the summer night. “Is there any time frame for her next surgery?”

“In a few weeks. It sounds scary, and believe me, when I first thought of doctors working on my child's heart, I was terrified. But they do these catheterizations all the time now. It's a day procedure—she comes home the same night if all goes well.”

Cam seems so calm as he shares this. “So, right now, she's doing okay?” I ask.

“Well, her immune system is fragile, so there are precautions we take, and there are medications we have to keep her on—like heparin. I guess you could say that we have more doctor appointments than most babies.” His voice softens. “But right now, yes, she's okay.”

“How about you?” I ask gently. And I wonder as I ask it if anyone else has asked Cam how he is. I wonder if he's even had time to ask himself.

But Cam doesn't hesitate. “I'm a dad now. I'm
her
dad. I have to be okay.”

It's a line that separates Cam and me. No matter how many diapers I've changed for my niece and nephews, or how much I think I've gleaned from Jane about staying up with a sick baby all night or waiting in a doctor's office for test results, these are not vigils I have ever had to keep. I am not a parent, let alone a parent of a sick child. I will not pretend that I can imagine the fear that Cam has felt. And yet my heart pumps, with all its health and vigor, with new wonder for this man standing beside me.

A
few mornings later, Erika wakes me up. “I'm on my way,” she barks into the phone.

“What?” I roll over and look at the clock. It's barely seven thirty. “Where?”

“I couldn't take the scorching city another second. So last night I packed my bags.” She tells me that she's taken two weeks of leave for her wedding—a week more than originally planned. Her boss, Raj, instantly threatened to replace her, but she knows he won't. “I wrapped up his briefings a week early for the Landry case. Besides, he loves me,” she says, with no small amount of assuredness. And I believe her.

“So where are you now?” I ask, stifling a yawn. It's too early in the morning to process all this.

“I'm on the Mass Pike.” She pauses. “God, Maggie. I can't believe this is the last time I'll drive the Pike as a single woman.”

I swing my legs over the side of the bed. “Fascinating point. When do you get here?”

“In about an hour!” she shouts. There is a rushing staticky noise in the background.

“Are you in Trent's car, with the top down, by any chance?” I ask.

“Of course I am. Do you have any idea how much stuff a bride and groom need for their wedding weekend? I couldn't possibly carry all that on the train.”

“Right. So, then how will Trent get here?”

Erika is not fazed. “By train.”

We make plans to meet for dinner. “I need a shot just to get the strength to pull into my parents' driveway,” Erika groans. “My mother is in full wedding-madness mode. How am I going to manage two weeks at home with my parents?”

“Ha, tell me about it. I've already been home for a week.”

“So what have you been doing? Since you left town it's like you've fallen off the planet.”

I pause a beat. I haven't mentioned Cam or Emory. Or my official unemployment.

“I've been making sure your big day is all set!” I say instead.

“You're the best, Mags.”

Twelve hours and two cosmos later, we're seated at Bravo Bravo's on the water as Erika scrolls through her to-do list. “You have no idea,” she says before taking a long sip of her icy drink, “how many loose ends there still are to tie up.”

I don't add that I have some of my own, too. Erika is in venting mode, and I've learned that it's best to let her get it all out if I expect to get a word in later.

“Did I tell you what happened? I left my veil behind in Boston!”

“Surely Trent can just ship it for you.”

Erika looks at me as if I've suggested Trent make her a new veil out of paper napkins and Elmer's Glue.

“I am not trusting my veil to the postal service. Someone will have to personally drive it down.”

“Maybe Peyton could just bring the veil when she comes for the wedding?”

Erika shakes her head as if something is crawling in her ear. “And risk it being forgotten? Besides, I need it now so it can be pressed in advance, along with my dress.”

I don't ask who will get the dubious honor of driving the veil from Boston. As long as it's not me.

Erika continues down her list. “So, let's see . . . the band has confirmed their reservation at the inn. The florist okayed the freesia that I wanted to add into your bridesmaid bouquets. You're okay with that, right?” Erika glances at me quickly for confirmation, but she's already on to the next item before I can nod my head. “The caterer called for final head counts for the rehearsal dinner clambake.” She pauses. “Did you know they ordered two thousand clams? Does that seem like a lot of clams to you? Oh, and Trent's mother flies in from her pre-wedding Canyon Ranch retreat next Sunday. Shouldn't
I
be the one taking a pre-wedding retreat?”

I smile into my cosmo at the fact that Trent's mother comes at the end of the list, after the clams. “Well, it sounds like everything is pretty well under control,” I say, hoping we're done with lists for the moment. “When do Trent and the groomsmen arrive?”

There are two weeks until the actual wedding, but Erika has turned the event into a bit of a drawn-out occasion, with golf outings, family dinners, and boat trips leading up to the big day.
For those who come to town early, there will be at least four days of events to attend. I'm already exhausted just thinking about it.

“Didn't Evan tell you?”

I shrug, feigning forgetfulness. I've kept our recent communications brief to avoid being pressed any further about apartments. It's too stressful.

Erika shakes her head in disgust. “They're not coming in until the Thursday before. Trent is wrapping up some big deal at work, and he insists that he get it done before the honeymoon. I had to move the golf event out by a whole day.”

I make a mental note of this; if the groomsmen don't arrive until the Thursday before the wedding, that means it'll be twelve days until Evan and I are in the same zip code. Our crab cakes arrive. When I first came home, I was pining for Evan to arrive. But now I can't deny the fact that I'm counting the days I have left alone.

“So what's new with you?” Erika says finally, dabbing the corners of her mouth with her napkin. We're done with dinner, which means the time it'll take to eat the small dessert we've ordered to share (which we both know Erika will only stare longingly at) is my allotment of talk-time.

“Well, it's official. I lost my job.”

Erika jerks upright. “Why didn't you tell me? Here I am dribbling on about wedding stuff. How are you feeling”

My feelings are still mixed. The sense of initial freedom has been replaced with the fear that I won't find anything. Almost worse is my other fear that the one job I find will be something I don't like at all. “It's so strange—I suddenly can't imagine not
going back to Darby. I'm not going to see those kids again. I'm not going to teach in that classroom, with the birch tree right outside my window, and Sharon just down the hall. I'm going to have to start all over.” I shake my head.

For once, Erika doesn't say anything. She reaches across the table and puts her hand on my arm.

“And did I mention that I hung out with Cam?” I laugh at the absurdity of all of this. None of it is funny.

Erika sits back in her chair and smiles sympathetically. “By that, do you mean you happened to see him in town? Or did you actually make plans to see him?”

Here is where it gets murky. “Both.”

The server brings our chocolate cake, which both of us stare at blankly for a moment. “Wow. You have been busy.” Erika runs a finger across the chocolate frosting and pops it in her mouth. “Let me ask you something. Do you have feelings for Cam again?”

It comes as an instant relief: someone recognizes my distress and she's tossing me the lifesaver. And yet I can't reach for it. Because, outside of sympathy and fond memories, I'm not sure if I have genuine feelings for Cam. And second, what good would it do if I did? Cam's life is full and complicated. And mine—well, right now it's just complicated. “I'm confused,” I say finally.

“Does Cam know about Evan?”

Only then does it dawn on me that I can't recall ever having mentioned Evan. Not even once, despite the fact that Cam has shared so many intimacies with me. A fresh guilt fills me. “No,” I say in a small voice. Then, when Erika narrows her eyes, “It's not like I've meant to keep Evan a secret or anything. He's just
never come up.” And right there, I realize the depth of what I've just said.