The Beach Quilt (17 page)

Cordelia frowned. “How do you eat so much and not gain weight?”

Stevie shrugged.

The girls were in the Kanes' kitchen. “It must be metabolism. I mean, what else could it be? It's not like you run five miles every day. Do you?”

Stevie raised an eyebrow. “Are you kidding? I mean, I like soccer, but I only play it because the school says we have to play a sport.”

“Ugh. I know. I think it's cruel and unusual punishment. I mean, do you know how many nails I've broken trying to catch a stupid ball?”

Stevie smiled, but Cordelia wasn't really sure she had heard her.

“You know,” Stevie said suddenly, “it's kind of weird. I was the one who played with dolls and dressed my cat Orangey, the one I had before Clarissa, in bonnets and took them all for walks in a plastic stroller. Not Sarah. And now she's the one having a baby.”

“An unplanned baby,” Cordelia said. “Which is not the same thing as a planned one.”

“No. It isn't.”

“Do you want to have kids someday?” Cordelia asked.

Stevie shrugged; Clarissa stayed firmly aboard Stevie's shoulder. “Maybe. I don't really think about it.”

“Good. You're way too young to be thinking about those things.” Cordelia grimaced. “Sorry. Didn't mean to sound like a mom.”

“That's okay. What about you? Do you want to have kids?”

Cordelia laughed. “
I'm
even too young to think about it! All I know is that if I was going to have a baby I'd definitely want to be married first. There's no way I would choose to be a single mom. I'm way too lazy.”

“My mom always says never to say never.”

“Well, believe me, in this case I am saying never and meaning it!”

Stevie's face suddenly darkened.

“What's wrong?” Cordelia asked. Stevie's mood could change as quickly as Clarissa could leap across a room.

“Nothing. Just something I was thinking about the other day.”

“You can tell me.”

“It sounds really awful but . . . well, do you think Justin, you know, forced Sarah?”

Cordelia didn't answer immediately. The fact was she had wondered the same thing herself. After all, Justin was so much bigger and stronger than Sarah. Worse, she had read online that seven percent of girls who had sex before the age of twenty reported that it was “nonvoluntary.” Worse again, that sort of thing was more likely to happen if the guy was two or three years older than the girl. Seven percent might not sound like a lot, but it was seven percent too much in Cordelia's opinion! And what about the girls who didn't admit to having been forced, the girls who were too afraid or embarrassed or ashamed to tell the truth?

Still, for all of Justin's faults, and there were many, Cordelia didn't see him as a rapist. Nothing Sarah had ever said or done while she had been dating him had ever struck Cordelia as in the least bit worrisome, a clue that she was afraid.

“No,” she said finally. “I really don't think that's what happened.”

“Good.” The relief in Stevie's tone was unmistakable. “Because if it were true, I don't know how I could look at the baby without thinking about . . . what had happened.”

Cordelia felt the same way, but she decided not to voice her agreement.

Stevie went on. “This probably sounds crazy but . . . I don't know. If a baby is born that way, because the man forced the woman, does that somehow . . . Can the baby grow up to be a good person? I mean, some people have criminal parents but aren't criminals themselves. It just seems like . . .”

“Like a disgusting burden to pass onto a child,” Cordelia blurted. “I know. But the child is innocent, one hundred percent. Just because his biological father was a jerk doesn't mean that he will be. Or she.”

“I guess you're right. Sometimes my thoughts get really dark.”

“That's where you and I differ. I hardly ever have really dark thoughts.”

“You're lucky, I guess.”

Cordelia shrugged. “Am I? Maybe I'd be smarter, more intellectual or something, if I did have dark thoughts.”

“Misery doesn't mean brilliance.”

“Did you just make that up?”

“I read it somewhere,” Stevie said. “But I think it's true.”

“Well, you're probably right. There's this Goth guy in my grade who mopes around all the time, and he failed two classes last semester.”

“But maybe he's just pretending to mope around,” Stevie pointed out. “Maybe his thoughts are all totally shallow.”

Cordelia laughed. “It's official. You are just way smarter than me!”

Sarah sat at the kitchen table, looking glumly at her bank statement. Her mother had opened the savings account for her when she turned twelve, and Sarah had been putting money into it regularly. She had almost a thousand dollars in savings, but it didn't look as if she would be making many significant deposits for some time to come. Not with the loss of all of her significant babysitting clients.

Just last Saturday Sarah had shown up at the Blanchard family's house as arranged only to find another girl, someone Sarah recognized vaguely from town, already there to watch little three-year-old Mylie and Kylie while their mother went to her tennis lesson.

“We no longer require your services,” Mrs. Blanchard had told her at the front door, a frown on her perfectly made-up face. “I must say that your—situation—doesn't say much for your intelligence or for your sense of responsibility. My husband and I simply cannot allow you to be in charge of our children.”

Sarah hadn't even attempted to argue or to plead for understanding. She had simply turned away, face burning, and walked back down the manicured drive.

Mrs. Blanchard had a right to decide who would watch her children, but why had she let Sarah make the trip to her house a half hour's walk from her home? Why hadn't she simply fired her over the phone? Why had she felt the need to humiliate her in front of that other sitter?

Two days after that, another client had sent a curt note of dismissal. And just that morning, Mrs. Hill, the last of Sarah's longtime clients, had called Cindy to say that Sarah's services as a sitter were no longer required.

“Those were the exact words she used?” Sarah asked, unwilling to believe she had heard correctly. “She wants someone unencumbered by pregnancy?”

“The exact words. She feels that it wouldn't be fair to ask you to run after and pick up a toddler when you were—encumbered.”

“Oh.”

Sarah bit her lip. This obvious lie was worse than the out and out disdain and the judgment of Mrs. Blanchard.

Now, with the defection of Mrs. Hill, an important source of income had been entirely cut off. Staring morosely at the bank statement, Sarah couldn't help but wonder if this were a sign of financial distress to come, of a social stigma she would be compelled to live under for the rest of her life. Had things really changed for women, or were they still subject to the old stereotypes—Madonna and Whore, Good Girl and Bad Girl? Could one mistake or accident made early in your life necessarily overshadow whatever good you accomplished in later years?

“I'm sorry, Sarah,” her mother said then, putting a hand on her daughter's shoulder. “For what it's worth, Mrs. Hill sounded sorry, too.”

Sarah shrugged off her mother's touch. Mrs. Hill's feelings of guilt were worth nothing to her. What she needed was a job, not someone's discomfort with her own prejudice.

“It's fine,” she said. She got up from the table.

“I made some sketches recently, for the baby's quilt,” her mother said. “Would you like to see them?”

“Not now.”

Adelaide looked at the calendar on the kitchen wall. June twenty-fifth.
Where,
she wondered,
has the time gone?
The spring really had seemed to fly by with astonishing speed. Adelaide had had plans to accomplish a host of little chores but so many remained undone. Like the pair of curtains she had meant to wash and the Adirondack chair she had meant to repaint before the summer season. At least she had kept up with her portion of the work for Sarah's baby's quilt. The five of them—Stevie was very much in on the project—had had their first real work session together just after the school term had ended and the girls had a little more free time on their hands.

The Busy Bee was once again open full time, though business wouldn't really pick up until well after the July fourth holiday. Still, it was nice to see familiar faces after so many months of near hibernation. Some of her customers had returned from second homes in Florida and were sporting tans. Adelaide felt ever so slightly jealous of these women, in spite of her better nature. Everyone had her troubles and concerns, even someone with money enough to afford a second home and winter sunbathing.

Adelaide turned away from the calendar. Speaking of troubles and concerns, the reality of Sarah Bauer's pregnancy had sunk in, though maybe not fully. There were still moments when Adelaide—and Jack, by his own admission—felt that they were going to wake up one morning to find that life had gone back to “normal.” There were still moments when Adelaide forgot that Sarah was pregnant and only remembered when Sarah came through the door. It was always a shock, this visible proof.

It was confirmed that Sarah was due in late August. She was doing well. At least Adelaide hoped that she was. Physically, she was thriving. Emotionally . . . well, from what Adelaide could glean, she was doing as well as could be expected. Whatever, exactly, that meant. Certainly, she was enthusiastic about their quilt project.

Cordelia, too, had seemed to settle into acceptance of her friend's situation. Adelaide had been a little worried that Cordelia's school performance was going to suffer as a result of the upheaval in her personal life, but she had pulled off her usual good grades.

As far as Adelaide knew, there had been no word about Justin Morrow after he had defected to Massachusetts back in March. At least he wasn't around to create more trouble. If Sarah missed him at all, she certainly hadn't made it known to the Kanes, not even to Cordelia. Adelaide had seen Justin's mother in the bank one afternoon about a month earlier. She had watched her chatting pleasantly with the teller and had wondered what sort of a woman would allow her son to abandon a girl he had gotten pregnant. But maybe June Morrow had no moral or emotional control over her son. Maybe his father was his son's champion and had convinced his boy he had no responsibility to anyone but himself. Or maybe both Matt and June Morrow had pleaded with Justin to do right by Sarah—if not to marry her, then at least to help pay for the baby's prenatal care—and he had simply fled the scene. Adelaide assumed she would never know the answers to any of those questions. If only she could stop speculating on them!

Adelaide took a pitcher of iced tea from the fridge and poured herself a glass. She and Jack had decided to put off a vacation until the following year. They felt it would be unfair to burden Cindy with the running of the shop with Sarah due in August. Besides, there had been the unexpected expense of Adelaide's new eyeglass prescription, as well as unforeseen repairs to the dishwasher and washing machine. The family deserved a vacation together, but people didn't always get what they wanted, let alone what they deserved. The challenge was to accept what you did get—or what you could manage to wrangle—and make the best of it. Wasn't it? Or was that sort of attitude defeatist, an excuse to embrace resignation?

Adelaide realized she wasn't in the mood to give the answers much thought. Instead, she got on with making dinner.

The months had passed, March, April, and May slipping by in rapid succession until it was now almost the end of June. School was out until just after Labor Day and Cindy was back to work full time at The Busy Bee. Joe's business was in full swing, and he was, as the saying went, making hay while the sun shined.

Cindy was in the kitchen, preparing a chicken for dinner. Even after a busy day at the shop, she enjoyed making a meal. Cooking soothed her. And it allowed her mind to wander while she worked.

Sarah was showing, though from behind, she still looked almost as slim and narrow as she had back in January. Her breasts were fuller, as, of course, was her belly, but she could still wear much of her usual clothing. She had escaped the curse of morning sickness and was eating an astonishing amount. There had been no alarming mood swings. Her energy level was high, at least until the evenings, and she was still able to keep up with her chores around the house and in the yard.

Still, Cindy wondered if Sarah really felt as strong and capable as she seemed, or if she was just very determined to prove that she was still someone who could be relied upon and trusted. There wasn't any way to tell; Sarah would never admit that she was trying to regain a love she was afraid she had jeopardized.

To everyone's relief, the baby continued to develop right on schedule and without any signs of trouble.

Mrs. Morrow was keeping her silence, and Cindy had heard nothing further about her wayward son. She assumed he was still working for his uncle in Massachusetts (that had been the story put around) but who knew where he really was hiding. Joe, too, had heard nothing except for a few disparaging remarks thrown about by some of his employees right after Justin had gone off. It seemed that no one in Yorktide had ever thought very highly of Justin Morrow. The consensus was that he was a nice enough kid but not very smart or reliable.

Well,
Cindy thought,
the Bauers could vouch for that!

Sarah's pregnancy hadn't been a private matter for months. Mrs. Wade, their nearest neighbor, had been one of the first to approach Cindy, months earlier. Cindy hadn't seen any point in denying Sarah's pregnancy. Besides, Mrs. Wade was a good old soul; her pity was earnest and her pledge of support was, Cindy believed, genuine.

In fact, on the whole, people had been kind and supportive. If they were also judgmental and critical (Cindy thought of Mrs. Blanchard and Mrs. Hill and the other women who had dropped Sarah as a sitter), they were mostly keeping those attitudes to themselves, and for that small favor Cindy was grateful.

The family had learned that Sarah was having a boy, though Sarah had yet to decide upon a name. At first, Cindy had thought that knowing the baby's sex would help them in designing the quilt. Boys liked trains and cars, didn't they? Well, some did, but others didn't. Maybe Sarah's son would prefer flowers to dinosaurs or yellow to blue or writing stories to playing sports. In the end, Cindy and Sarah had decided on a seaside theme. The five of them were tasked with creating images of red lobsters, cobalt blue fish, tan shells, gray and white seagulls, fanciful purple starfish, and beach roses in deep pink, all of which would be placed against a cream-colored background. There was some degree of design beyond that, but the unspoken agreement seemed to be that the baby's quilt would be—how to put it nicely? A bit more haphazard than it might have been had Cindy and Adelaide had their way.

Joe was not so secretly excited about the upcoming addition of another male to the Bauer household. He had already bought him a tiny Red Sox cap and had dug out from the attic a set of hand-carved wooden building blocks that had belonged to his father. Of course it would be some time before his grandson would be old enough to join him in his workshop or to play ball with him in the backyard. But it made Cindy happy to see him anticipating the birth so wholeheartedly. She hoped that it made Sarah happy, too.

As for Stevie, well, she seemed to be okay, though she had been spending less time with her friends in the past weeks. When Cindy had asked if the girls had had a falling out, Stevie had said that no, everything was fine. How far, Cindy wondered, could you press for a particular answer without making it clear to your child you thought they were lying?

Anyway, Stevie and Clarissa were still inseparable, and since Stevie took complete care of the cat—grooming her, cleaning the litter box several times a day, monitoring her diet—Cindy had no cause to complain. She would have preferred that Clarissa not join them at the dinner table, but no one else seemed to mind, so she let it be. Besides, Clarissa had proved to be a magnificent mouser. Not that Cindy's house was at all dirty, but they did live in what amounted to a field and the occasional wee mouse was known to find its way inside. Clarissa dispatched them with speed and deposited them well away from the house. She was a kitty of refinement.

Cindy slid the chicken into the oven to roast. For the moment things felt relatively stable and sure. But in a matter of months, there would be a new member of the Bauer family. And then the world would shift once again, and they would all have to regain their footing on new land.

So be it.