The Beach Quilt (14 page)

Sarah got off the school bus in Larchside, a few stops before her usual one. She couldn't bear to go home just yet and face her mother and her sorrowing gaze.

There it was, The Bookworm. She went inside. The store had a huge section of discounted paperbacks. Browsing for books was one of Sarah's favorite things to do. Even now, she could almost,
almost
forget the pregnancy, if only for a few minutes, and lose herself in a treasure hunt.

Beyond Three Worlds
. Sarah vaguely recognized the title and pulled the book from the shelf. She turned it over to read the back copy.

“That's a great book.”

Sarah looked around at the guy standing next to her. “Oh,” she said. “I've heard about it.”

“Definitely worth a read. Even if you're not really into science fiction, which I'm not. Not much anyway.”

“Me neither,” Sarah said. “But this is considered a classic, isn't it? A cult classic?”

“Yeah. It was one of the first books Christopher Justice ever wrote, and now it's considered his best.”

“That could be difficult to live with,” Sarah noted. “I mean, to peak early in your career. It could be depressing later.”

The guy nodded. “Funny you should say that. I read that he suffered pretty bad depression the last ten years of his life.”

“He's dead?”

“Yeah. This book was written in 1937. He was in his nineties when he died. Or maybe late eighties.”

Sarah smiled. “I wonder if it makes much of a difference when you've reached that age. A few years, I mean.”

“I'd bet it makes a huge difference. By the way, I'm Philip.” He stuck out his hand, and Sarah shook it.

“Sarah.”

Physically, Philip was as different from Justin as he could be. He was only about Sarah's height, very thin, with dark hair to his shoulders. He wore black-rimmed glasses, and had several tattoos on his forearms. Around his neck hung a silver chain with a horn pendant. His T-shirt and jeans were black.
His jacket must be on a chair somewhere,
Sarah thought.
It's winter. He would need a jacket.
She almost laughed at the inanity of the thought. What did it matter where he had put his jacket?

Sarah had never seen him before, she was sure of that. She liked his manner, at once earnest and easy.

“You don't go to Yorktide High,” she said.

“No. I live in Bayville. I'm a senior at the MacAdams School. It's a charter.”

“Oh.”

Neither said anything for a moment. Philip stuffed his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. Sarah shifted her weight.

Finally, Philip spoke. “Would you, you know, want to catch a movie sometime?” he asked. “Or, maybe get something to eat? There's an amazing little Mexican place just opened up down the block, really authentic. My dad's been going there every day for lunch since it opened, and he's half Mexican, so I guess that says something.”

Sarah's heart began to race. She had never, ever expected this sort of thing to happen.

“I'm sorry,” she said, her voice trembling. “I . . . I don't date.”

“Oh. Okay.” Philip nodded at the book still in her hand. “You really should read that.”

“Thanks. I will.”

Philip walked off, and Sarah turned back to the wall of books. Her heart was still pounding. Oh, why couldn't guys leave her alone! Why couldn't they bother someone else, someone who wanted to be bothered by them, like that clique of boy-crazy girls at school, Jessica and Berkley and all the others? All they wanted to do was go out with guys, break up with guys, send pictures of themselves to guys, talk about guys, and Sarah guessed, sleep with guys or at least pretend that they did.

Why weren't guys after
Cordelia?
She was tall and pretty and fun and . . .

Sarah put her hand to her head. In truth, she hoped that Cordelia stayed far away from guys until she was much older. Honestly, she would do anything to protect Cordelia from the sort of mess she had gotten herself into.

She took a deep breath. She hoped that she hadn't insulted Philip. He had seemed like a nice person, smart, too. But even the nicest and smartest teenage guy was not going to be into dating a pregnant teenage girl, especially when the baby wasn't his. Not that she wanted to get involved with another guy now. Maybe not ever.

Sarah bought the book less because she wanted to read it and more as a sort of apology to Philip for having refused his offer. The truth was that if she hadn't been pregnant she would have liked to get to know him better. But that was a very big “if.”

The Kane women were in the kitchen preparing dinner. Well, Adelaide was chopping carrots and mushrooms for a soup. Cordelia was sitting at the island, flipping through a fashion magazine. Adelaide had tried on several occasions to interest her daughter in cooking, but Cordelia remained content to focus on the end result—eating.

“I wish Sarah would consider having the baby adopted,” Adelaide said, surprised by the words because she hadn't planned on discussing this with Cordelia. But feelings had been welling up inside her, and now the words kept coming. “I've mentioned the idea to Mrs. Bauer time and time again, but she's standing firmly with Sarah.”

“I don't think I know anyone who's adopted,” Cordelia said, looking up from a garish ad for glittery eye shadow. “Unless it's a secret for some reason.”

“Yes,” Adelaide said, “well, be that as it may, I can't help but feel frustrated. I just don't know why Cindy won't even
consider
adoption.”

“You mean, Sarah.”

“Yes, of course. Sarah.”

“Oh, wait,” Cordelia said, “I do know someone who's adopted. Well, I sort of know her. She's a year ahead of me. She's Korean. Her parents are Irish American, I think, because her last name is Moore. Or is that English?”

“I don't know where the name originated,” Adelaide replied shortly.

Cordelia shrugged. “Doesn't matter. Mom, do you really want to do this quilt for the baby? Because I'm not sure I do. I'm having trouble feeling excited or happy about any of this. The other day when we all got together at the shop to talk about it my mind was, like, a million miles away.”

Adelaide put down her knife. “Honestly,” she said, “I don't feel excited or happy about any of it, either. But if making a quilt together makes Cindy feel better, and Sarah, too, then I think we should show our support.”

“What if Sarah
does
change her mind about an adoption? What will happen to the quilt then?”

What an odd question,
Adelaide thought. “Then the quilt will go with him—or her. Our . . . our farewell gift, I suppose.”

“But what if the new parents refuse to take the quilt?” Cordelia pressed. “What if they don't want any reminder of his real mother? People who adopt can do that sort of thing, can't they? Basically erase all traces of the baby's origins?”

Adelaide shuddered. “Don't think about the awful possibilities,” she said somewhat harshly. “You'll drive yourself crazy. And besides, it's not your decision to make—arranging an adoption—so don't . . .”

Adelaide turned away, her hand to her head. She should never have started this conversation with Cordelia. It had taken them both too close to Adelaide's past. And this was Sarah's decision to make, not hers. She knew that. She
knew
that.

“Mom?” Cordelia asked. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” she said, turning back to her daughter. “I'm fine.”

It was a lie, but Cordelia seemed to believe it. “Good,” she said, flipping another page of her magazine. “Hey, do you think I would look too fat in this dress?”

The dinner dishes had been cleared, and the leftovers had been put away. Joe had gone to Stevie's room to take a look at her sewing machine; it had been making an odd noise. Sarah had gone to her own room to finish some homework.

The kitchen was quiet. Cindy was at the table reviewing their checkbook and the accounts for Joe's business. It was not heartening work. Her eye wandered to the front door of the fridge. In every single one of the pictures posted there, her children looked so carefree, as children should be and so rarely were. There was Sarah bundled to the teeth, pulling Stevie over the snow on a sled. There she was in her Girl Scout uniform at the age of ten, looking so smart and proud. And there she was, sitting next to Stevie on a big rock on Marginal Way.

Cindy sighed and looked away. It just wasn't fair that Sarah should be ripped from her one and only childhood so brutally. Yes, she had taken a foolish chance with Justin. But did that mean she had to spend the rest of her life atoning for that one foolish decision?

Cindy looked back to the papers on the table before her. There was never much of a cushion; some months they barely got by. If only all of Joe's clients would pay on time! He spent too much energy acting as a collection agency. But if he asked one of his employees to handle that unpleasant task he would have to pay him and where would
that
money come from?

And then there was Cindy's job at The Busy Bee. She had been wondering how Adelaide would feel about having a baby on the premises. Though some of the quilts the shop sold were worth a small fortune, The Busy Bee didn't have a high-end feel. Children were welcome. Adelaide often put out a plate of homemade cookies and was always ready to chat with a curious customer, even those who were honest about not being there to buy. It was a very nice place to work and a lovely place to visit.

But a baby on site from morning until six in the evening when the shop closed for the day was quite another matter. Even if she slept a good deal of the time, she would need feeding and changing and during those times Cindy would be unavailable to help Adelaide. And often, especially during the summer months, the shop could be super, super busy. A hungry, fussy baby in need of changing would be very disruptive to conducting business.

And what would happen when the baby became a toddler? You certainly couldn't have an active two-year-old stumbling around a shop that sold pointy objects like needles and priceless treasures like delicate old quilts.

Cindy sighed. She would have to investigate day care options and hope there was something local the family could afford. There were a few women in Yorktide who provided day care services in their homes. Cindy had seen their ads in the local paper. Maybe one of those women would be open to the notion of barter. Cindy might provide sewing services or Joe might provide some carpentry. It was worth asking. Because cutting back on her hours at The Busy Bee was simply not an option. She didn't make a lot of money, but what she did make was essential. Somehow they would have to afford health insurance for the baby . . .

This was a troubling thought. What if Adelaide couldn't come to terms with the family's decision to keep the child? After all, she was still talking about adoption. If that were the case, Cindy figured she would have to find another job all together. She could hardly spend her days in the same room as a woman—a former friend—who disapproved of her family's choices. It would be intolerable. But how would she be able to care for the baby properly if she had to work for strangers who couldn't be expected to be sympathetic to her home situation, or if she had to work in an office that frowned upon children on the premises, or if she had to take a job that required she work long and varying shifts? Night shifts might be doable; Joe and Sarah and Stevie would be home for the baby. But then how would she function during the day, exhausted from too little sleep and faced with the constant demands of an infant?

Cindy felt her heart beating uncomfortably and pushed aside the paperwork. Unless she wanted to give herself a heart attack, it was best to make decisions about a new job if and when the time came.

“All fixed.”

It was Joe, back from solving Stevie's sewing machine problem.

Cindy got up from the table and went into his arms.

“It's a pretty decent day, isn't it?” Cordelia said. “I mean, for March.”

The girls were at the picnic table in Sarah's backyard. They were dressed in winter gear but without mittens over gloves and a second scarf. The trees were still bare of leaves, but a bird feeder made by Mr. Bauer hung from almost every one. Some were really elaborate, with little towers and turrets like those on an old castle. Others were simple, brightly painted boxes, green and blue and pink. They definitely brought some cheer to the otherwise dismal scene.

Sarah nodded. “If you don't mind mud. And I don't.”

Cordelia looked with distaste at her boots. They were
caked
with mud. There was no avoiding it in March and most of April, for that matter. It was all over the place, ready to ruin your day. The fact that Sarah didn't mind mud on her shoes and the hem of her pants only proved how much she and Cordelia saw the world in different ways.

Sarah was eating an ice-cream sandwich. It was her second. Cordelia was eating a diet pudding cup. It was gross. Compared to the real stuff it was tasteless and gritty, but she was trying to be smart about what she ate without actually going on an official diet. The thought of actually dieting was too depressing. She figured that if she cut calories and fat in a bunch of small ways it would eventually add up to success. Hopefully. Because she wasn't keen on exercise, either. Who had come up with the idea that sweating was a good thing? Sweating, Cordelia thought, was even grosser than diet pudding.

Anyway, at the moment there was something far more important on her mind than losing an extra pound or two. Her mother had been very clear about the fact that she thought Sarah should give her baby up for adoption. She had cited all sorts of frightening and seriously depressing facts about the lives of teen mothers and their children. Like, how teen mothers often couldn't manage to keep a steady job and how lots of times they wound up living in abusive homes. And how their kids performed poorly in school. And how the daughters of teenage mothers had a much higher chance of winding up pregnant when they were teens compared to daughters born to adults. And how the sons of teenage mothers were more likely to wind up in jail. Jail!

It was all really terrible. Cordelia couldn't bear to think of her best friend in the world suffering like that for the rest of her life. So she had decided to screw up her nerve and talk to Sarah about adoption. Maybe Sarah would listen to someone her own age. Cordelia hated confrontations of any kind and she was smart enough to sense that this conversation could become confrontational. She would have to be very careful of Sarah's feelings and try not to sound as if she was criticizing her friend's decision, even though she was in a sense, wasn't she?

Cordelia put down the empty pudding cup and plastic spoon. “I've been thinking about stuff,” she said.

Sarah laughed a bit. “Haven't we all?”

“Yeah. Well, Sarah, I'm not sure you're making the right decision about the baby. I really think you should think about putting him—or her—up for adoption.”

“What?” Sarah spit the word as if it had a nasty taste.

Cordelia quailed for a moment but then went on. After all, this was for Sarah's sake. “Have you thought about how expensive it's going to be, raising a child? And about how you're going to finish high school and go on to college? And there are all those awful statistics about children of teenage mothers. . . .” Cordelia suddenly felt embarrassed. “Well, about them having a lot of trouble in life.”

Sarah visibly bristled. “Of course I've thought about all that,” she snapped. “First, I'm not a statistic, and second, I made my decision and it's final. I thought you said you'd support me.”

“I did say that, and I mean it. I will. But—”

“But what? But only if I change my mind? Look, Cordelia, this is not your decision to make. It's
my
baby, not yours.”

“I know that,” Cordelia protested. “I'm only trying to help. My mother—”

“Of course! My mother told me your mother keeps talking about adoption. Did she send you over here to convince me that I'm being stupid?”

“No!” Cordelia cried. She was horrified. This entire conversation had been going wrong since the start.

“Why don't you and your mother keep out of my business, all right?”

“It's just that we care about you, Sarah!”

“Really? It doesn't feel like caring. It feels like you think you know it all. And if you and your mother are so against my keeping this baby, why don't you just drop out of helping with the quilt?”

Cordelia realized that she was trembling. Who was this person who was supposed to be her friend and how had they gotten to this awful place of criticism and accusation?

“I'm sorry,” she said, tears trickling now down her cheeks. “I shouldn't have said anything.”

“You're right. You shouldn't have.”

“I'll go now,” Cordelia said, getting up from the picnic table. Sarah didn't say good-bye. When Cordelia reached the road, she began to run and she didn't stop until she reached her own home on Rosehip Lane. She thought that she had never felt so miserable in her life.