The Beach Quilt (16 page)

It was early March, still winter, but every so often, if you really tried, you could detect a hint of the coming spring. But not today. The sky was thick with lead-colored clouds and the air had a damp bite to it. Still, the roads were clear enough to allow Sarah to ride her bike to the grocery store. True, some stretches were rough, the asphalt eaten up by repeated layers of ice and salt, but Sarah rode slowly and defensively.

And as she pedaled, she thought about Justin. It had been so long since they had last spoken, the night she had told him she was pregnant. She had sent him so many texts, asking how he was doing, telling him that she had been to see the doctor, letting him know that she felt pretty good. But he hadn't once texted back. He hadn't once answered or returned any of her calls.

Maybe he was still angry with her for turning down his offer of marriage. Maybe he was still angry with her for messing up his carefree life. Maybe he was scared.

Whatever Justin's motives for silence, Sarah had finally come to accept that it all boiled down to the fact that he didn't care enough about her to overcome them. She was sad about this but not really surprised. She had pretty much expected to be abandoned. What
did
surprise her was that Justin seemed to have absolutely no interest in the life he had helped create.

But then she guessed that to Justin that life was only a nuisance, an accident to be regretted, and if at all possible, forgotten. She wondered if all guys in Justin's situation felt so little interest in the baby they had made. Maybe. Probably. Maybe if Justin had been in love with her he would care. But he hadn't been. He had never pretended to be, even while asking her to marry him. So really, what could she expect?

Nothing.

Sarah realized that she was coming up upon Justin's friend Buck's house. She had forgotten that he lived along this stretch of road. She rode past the house without glancing to the right to see if Justin's truck might be in the yard. She dreaded the thought of running into him unprepared. It was doubtful he would be full of sincere inquiries and concern. He might ignore her. He might stop to talk but avoid meeting her eye. He might demand she keep the identity of her baby's father a secret. But even if she did, before long everyone in Yorktide would have guessed the truth. It wasn't as if Sarah had ever had another boyfriend.

A car passed her going way too fast on the damaged road, and Sarah felt tears spring to her eyes. It was all such a mess. Every day, no, every moment she felt plagued by a new doubt or worry. She simply wasn't ready for this. She wasn't at all prepared to be a mother. It was ridiculous. It was absurd!

She felt panic sweep through her. The bike swerved dangerously, and with a heavily beating heart, Sarah regained control and pulled over to the side of the road. What if she had fallen and the baby had been hurt? How would she ever be able to handle the fact that she had damaged her own child?

Sarah wiped tears from her eyes with the back of her gloved hand. Maybe, she thought, she
should
consider giving up the baby for adoption after all. What had ever made her think that she was ready to be a mother?

No, she told herself firmly. She had made her decision, and she would stick to it and be the best mother she could be to her child. Slowly, and very carefully, she steered her bike back onto the road.

When she got to the store, she locked her bike to the rack in front of the main entrance. The automatic doors slid back, and Sarah walked inside. She picked up a red plastic basket and headed directly for the produce section. Her mother wanted to make an orange fool for dessert. It was one of her father's favorites. He had been having a particularly difficult week at work, and her mother felt that he deserved a treat.

Sarah noticed two women who were standing in front of a pyramid of bananas, set up just to the right of the bins of oranges and lemons and melons. The reason she noticed them was because unlike most local residents each was very smartly dressed (that was a term her mother used), one in a long leather coat, the other in a knee-length fur jacket. Each carried an enormous, structured leather bag. And each wore what Sarah guessed was real gold jewelry.

She didn't recognize the women, or at least, she didn't think that she recognized them. The one in the leather coat might have stopped into The Busy Bee once or twice, but Sarah thought she might be confusing her with someone else, one of the wealthier summer residents or a woman down from Kennebunkport for the day.

Sarah turned away from the women. Four or five big oranges, her mother had said. And maybe, Sarah thought, she would get a couple of grapefruit as well. Stevie loved grapefruit, especially in the winter. She said it made her think of summer and Clarissa liked to play with the rinds.

“Bill said he didn't even give proper notice,” the woman in the leather coat was saying, “just announced he was moving to Massachusetts and off he went.”

“Well, Justin Morrow never was known for his sense of responsibility.”

Sarah's hand stopped in mid reach. She felt her heart begin to race uncomfortably.

“You know,” the first woman went on, “I heard a rumor he got some high school girl pregnant. Maybe that's why he was in such a hurry to get out of town.”

The second woman, the one wearing fur, grunted. “I wouldn't be surprised. I wonder who it is. The girl, I mean.”

The first woman clucked her tongue. “Poor thing. If she was looking for some help with the baby, she chose the wrong person to get involved with. I don't know what her mother and father were thinking. I would never have allowed my Judith to go out with a boy like Justin Morrow.”

Carefully and noiselessly, Sarah placed the red plastic basket on the floor, and head down, hurried toward the exit. She had to get away from those women and their pity and judgment.

Once through the double sliding doors, Sarah stood under the leaden March sky and took a deep breath. She hoped the two women hadn't noticed her scuttling past them, but even if they had, what would it have mattered? It wouldn't be long before everyone in Yorktide knew that Sarah Bauer was the “poor thing” that Justin Morrow had gotten pregnant.

She took another deep breath. So Justin had actually run off. That certainly explained the fact that in the past two months she had never even glimpsed him around town. She was almost able to laugh. She was so, so glad that she had turned down his offer of marriage. There was absolutely no doubt in her mind now that months, if not mere weeks, into a marriage Justin would have bolted. It was so much better this way. Difficult, yes, but better.

In fact, Sarah thought, her heartbeat calming, she felt relieved. With Justin gone from Yorktide, there was one less thing to worry about. He wouldn't be hanging around, annoying her or interfering with her plans or pretending that he cared.

Of course, when the baby was born, he might suddenly reappear, determined to play a part in his child's life. What would she do then? Would she be under a legal obligation to have a relationship with him?

Stop it,
Sarah told herself.
Don't dwell on this now, not here alone in this parking lot.
She had to keep in mind that she was not alone on this journey. Her family would deal with Justin's interference if and when it occurred. They would get a lawyer if they had to. Just last year her father had done a big job for a lawyer with a huge house out on Ridge Road. Mr. Jones was a decent guy; her father had said so. Maybe he could help them.

Sarah got onto her bike. She felt bad that she had run out of the store like a coward. She had acted like Justin had; she had run away from an unpleasant situation. But surely, responsibility for buying oranges did not compare to responsibility for raising a child! Still, she was sorry she had let her mother down, but not sorry enough to go back inside the grocery store. What if those two well-dressed women were still there, talking about the Bauers being bad parents?

Sarah began to pedal. There was still a way to make things right. On the way home, she took a detour to stop by a small specialty food shop in downtown Yorktide. There she paid more for four oranges and two grapefruit than she would have paid for a dozen of each in the supermarket.

Why can't I let this go? Why can't I accept Sarah's decision to keep her baby?

For a moment Adelaide wondered if those words had actually come out of her mouth. She looked around from the rack of perfectly ordered gift cards she had been pretending to straighten. No. The words had not been spoken aloud. Cindy was still studying the stack of paperwork on the counter before her.

“Did you happen to see that special last night on the New Hampshire public broadcasting station?” Cindy asked then, raising her head. “The one on the history of lace making.”

“No,” Adelaide said. “I didn't even know it was on.”

“It was wonderful. You should try to catch it when they run it again. They always run those specials more than once, don't they? I remember—”

“Cindy?” Adelaide took a deep breath. “Are you really one hundred percent certain that adoption isn't something you want to encourage Sarah to consider?”

Cindy nodded. “Yes. One hundred percent.”

“Because—”

“We can take care of our own, and we will.”

Cindy's tone made Adelaide hesitate, but only for a moment. “Of course, but—”

Cindy slapped the palm of her hand onto the counter. “Why do you keep insisting on this?” she demanded. “Sarah's made up her mind. We've made up our minds, as a family. Now, please, leave it alone.”

Adelaide was struck with regret. She had never seen Cindy so upset. “I'm sorry,” she said promptly. “Really, I am.”

Cindy took a deep breath. “It's all right,” she said after a moment. “I know you mean well.”

“I do. I did.” Adelaide knew it was time. “Look, Cindy,” she said. “I want to tell you something. Maybe I should have told you before now, but it's not something I find easy to talk about.”

“All right,” Cindy said, though her tone expressed some wariness.

And Adelaide told Cindy all that had happened twenty-one years earlier. When she had finished, Cindy's face was pale.

“And all these years,” she finally said, anguish in her eyes, “you've heard nothing of him?”

“That was the way it was planned,” Adelaide said carefully, wiping the tears that were coursing down her cheeks. She suddenly felt utterly exhausted. She had never told her story to anyone other than Jack.

Cindy reached out and took her friend's hand. “My God, Adelaide, how can you stand it?”

Adelaide swallowed back more tears. “Honestly, some days the pain of separation feels as raw as it did that day in the hospital when . . . And other days, I find myself not thinking about him at all. But that took time to happen.”

“So time's made it easier to bear?”

“Easier?” Adelaide laughed. “I don't know about that. Different, yes. You learn—tricks—for getting through the day. Eventually, you don't have to perform the tricks. They perform themselves. Well, that's an awkward way to put it, but it's all I can manage.”

Cindy nodded. “I understand. Something like that happened to me after my mother died. I guess we all cope with loss in whatever ways we can.”

“So, again, I'm sorry for harping so much on the idea of adoption. It's just that I feel so afraid for Sarah. I'm afraid that she'll miss out on opportunities for education and financial security. I'm afraid that she'll miss out on a chance for love, too. If she keeps the baby, she'll never know what it's like to fall in love as an independent woman. She'll always have the baby to consider, and that's a big burden for such a young person.”

“But of course I worry about those things, too,” Cindy told her. “We're not going into this wearing blinders, Adelaide, I assure you. And yes, I know that no matter how much you prepare for life, it can surprise you in all sorts of ways, good and bad. I know we'll have troubles. But we'd have troubles no matter what Sarah had decided to do about the pregnancy. A different bundle of troubles, but troubles nonetheless.”

Adelaide sighed. “You're right, of course. You can't avoid trouble in this life. Every decision is going to occasion both the good and the bad. I'm sorry, Cindy, again. You know you have my full support, Jack's too.”

“There's no reason to be sorry,” Cindy assured her. “I wish I'd known what you've been through before now, though. I'd have better understood why Sarah's situation was troubling you so much. Anyway, thank you for telling me. It will go no further.”

“I'd appreciate that, Cindy. Thank you. Other than Jack, and now you, no one in my life knows. Well, my parents know, of course, they were there, but thankfully it's not something we ever talk about.”

Her father, Adelaide thought, had probably erased his daughter's youthful indiscretion (that's what he might call it) from his memory. Her mother . . . well, she really had no idea what her mother had done with the memory of her daughter's youthful shame. Did she ever think about the grandchild she would never know? Adelaide frowned. Why, after all this time, would her mother suddenly care?

“Cindy,” Adelaide said, “this just occurred to me. Do you think it might help Sarah in some way if she knew that I had a baby at seventeen, that I put him up for adoption?”

“No,” Cindy said forcefully. “I mean, no, I don't think it would necessarily help her.”

“Okay.”

“I should get back to this order form.”

“Yes,” Adelaide said. “I think I'll make us another pot of coffee.”

The workday was coming to a close. They hadn't spoken much since Adelaide's revelation, but Cindy felt the silence was a healing, more than an awkward one. This feeling was partly what helped Cindy make her decision.

When the last customer had gone and the door had been locked behind her, Cindy turned to her friend. “Adelaide,” she said, “you shared something important with me today. Now, I want to share something important with you.”

“Okay,” Adelaide said, putting aside the receipts she had been reviewing.

“I lost two babies to miscarriages before Sarah was born. The second one almost cost my life.”

“Oh, Cindy,” Adelaide cried. “I'm so sorry. And you risked getting pregnant again.” Adelaide shook her head. “I don't know if I'm impressed or appalled.”

Cindy grinned. “I was stubborn. And determined. And in the end, I was very lucky. Sarah's pregnancy was a bit rocky; I spent the last month on bed rest. Stevie's was a breeze. Can you imagine, after all I'd been through? Anyway, after that, Joe had a vasectomy. I might have been willing to take another risk, but he put his foot down and I realized he was right. No more taking chances with my life.”

“Well,” Adelaide said, “I must say you're a braver woman than I am.”

“Or, more pigheaded. But the point is, I feel so grateful to have my girls; they seem like a bit of a miracle to me. The idea of giving away a child—Sarah's child—who is in some ways my own flesh and blood, is insupportable. I just can't allow it to happen.”

“Even if that's what Sarah really wanted?” Adelaide asked.

“Yes. I know that's selfish of me, but that's how I feel. And in some ways, making this quilt for the baby feels like, I don't know, another way to bind him—or her—to us.”

“I think I can understand,” Adelaide said. “Does Sarah know about the miscarriages?”

“Yes. I told her, leaving out the nastier details, of course. And of course, Sarah's doctor knows, just in case there could be a problem I might have passed along. But Dr. Westin thinks that Sarah is just fine. So far, anyway.”

“Well, it seems we both have our traumas to survive.”

“Women's traumas. So different from the traumas unique to men.”

“What are they, really, I wonder?”

“Traditionally? Having to support a family. Keeping a nicer lawn than the neighbors. Going to war.”

Adelaide nodded. “Well, women share all of those responsibilities now. They can join the armed forces, even if they're not allowed into combat.”

“That's true. But still, men think differently than we do. They feel differently.”

“Yes,” Adelaide said. “I suppose they do. That's why we cry at movies that make men yawn with boredom. That's why we ask for help when we're lost and don't insist on driving around in circles, expecting to force the right way out of our brains.”

“All the old clichés. All, or mostly, based somewhat on fact. Or on what we've come to agree is fact.”

“It's a bit depressing, if you ask me.”

Cindy shrugged. “It's just the way life is. I don't think the differences between men and women are worth getting depressed about. Or angry about, for that matter.”

“Well, maybe you're right,” Adelaide said. “The differences do make life interesting.”

But then Cindy thought of Justin, of how he had so blithely walked away from his child—and the mother of his child. Of course there were women who abandoned their children. Of course there were. But they were a small minority among a vast majority of women who would never dream of walking away when things became inconvenient or even when they became terribly difficult.

Cindy regarded her friend. Not that she considered Adelaide one of those cold and irresponsible women. Still, Cindy didn't want Sarah to know that someone she very much admired had made the choice for adoption. It might make her rethink her own decision.

“I had a few ideas about the baby's quilt,” Cindy said now. “I'll bring the sketches into the shop tomorrow.”

Adelaide smiled. “Good. I'll look forward to seeing them.”