The Beach Quilt (29 page)

Sarah was lying on the second bed in Cordelia's room. It was still kind of odd to see her pregnant, Cordelia thought, with breasts that actually needed a bra. It made her a little uncomfortable. The pregnancy was so blatant now. It was so much a reminder to Cordelia that Sarah had actually had sex. And that she, Cordelia, had not.

Not that she was in any rush to have sex, now that she was witness to Sarah's challenges. Her one ultra brief and entirely lunatic notion about asking John Blantyre to have sex with her had been a serious aberration, a moment of sheer, well, lunacy ! That, or sunstroke.

“Here, I got something for the baby. For Henry.” She held out a glossy blue gift bag, a profusion of red tissue paper poking out of it.

Sarah took the bag, reached inside, and pulled out a plush lion toy. “It's adorable,” she cried. “I'm sure he'll love it—after he drools all over it. But why a lion?”

“Because he's going to be a Leo,” Cordelia explained, stretching out on her own bed. “It's his sun sign. King Henry.”

“Oh, right. That means he's going to be sociable, right? And popular.”

“And have a big personality.”

“And a lot of hair, too, like a lion's mane?”

Cordelia frowned. “Hmm. I don't think it works that way.”

“I know. I was only teasing. I don't believe in any of that astrological stuff. But the lion is cute.”

“You know, you're a Leo, too. But you don't act much like one.”

“See?” Sarah said with a nod. “It's all nonsense.”

“Hmm. I just thought of something. If the baby is late, he'll be a Virgo. I don't think I'll be able to find a stuffed—what? Virgin?”

Sarah laughed. “Let's stick with the lion either way. So what's your sign?”

“Sagittarius, of course.”

“The archer? The half man, half horse? Funny, you don't look anything like a man or a horse.”

“Ha. But I have a passion for travel—I mean, I will have a passion for travel when I have the money to do it right—and I can be blunt, and I change my mind a lot.”

“You do change your mind a lot,” Sarah agreed.

“All the time. But it's normal for a Sag.”

“I see,” Sarah said, raising her eyebrows dramatically.

“Go ahead, laugh if you want to. But it hurts no one to be into sun signs and all. It's fun.”

“I suppose. As long as you don't give all your money to those bogus psychics, the kind who advertise in the back of cheesy magazines.”

Cordelia grinned. “How would you know anything about cheesy magazines? You read
National Geographic
!”

“There was this old issue of something called
AWAKE!
in my doctor's office,” Sarah explained. “I couldn't resist flipping through, and there were all these ads in back for obviously fake psychics and people who do cupping and sell these weird herbal concoctions. Every single ad promised your life would be totally changed for the better after you forked over your hard-earned cash. There were all these phony testimonials, too. Like, ‘my hair grew in thicker than ever when I poured this mustard and ground crystal tonic over my head.' And, ‘after years of searching for my soulmate, I finally found him when I tuned into my Otherworld Healer, thanks to Reverend Rainbow Dewdrop.' That sort of thing.”

“Rainbow Dewdrop?”

“Well,” Sarah said, “something like that.”

“Well, there are a lot of legitimate psychics and alternative healers,” Cordelia argued. “They just don't advertise in the back of cheesy magazines. They're too honest.”

“I guess. It's just that those ads for phony professionals make me feel bad for the people who believe them.”

“You feel bad for everybody. You'd feel bad for a robber who didn't get away with enough of your money! You'd be like, here, take another five dollars.”

Sarah laughed. “I would not! Well, maybe I'd feel bad that he probably had had a terrible, deprived childhood that led him to become a criminal in the first place.”

“See what I mean?”

“But you
have
to try to understand people's motives, their history, what makes them do what they do,” Sarah argued. “It matters if we're going to have a fair society.”

Cordelia shrugged. “I guess. But that still doesn't mean I'm personally going to feel bad for someone who tries to rob me!” She was silent for a moment, thinking. And then she said, “Sarah, you're going to make a really great mom.”

“Why?”

“Because you're a very good person. You're smart, and you have a big heart. What more do you need? And don't say money or education or any of those other things. A brain and a heart are pretty awesome all on their own.”

“You're a really great friend,” Sarah said quietly. “For having such faith in me. Some days I don't have a whole lot of faith in myself at all.”

“Well, do yourself a favor and get some! I'll be right back.” Cordelia hauled herself off the bed. “I'm going to get us some food.”

“Awesome,” Sarah said.

Cordelia laughed. “Hey, that's my word!”

Sarah had eaten three peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and two large oatmeal cookies. Now she was stretched out on Cordelia's second bed with the stuffed lion sitting atop her stomach. It really was adorable. Maybe, she thought, they should add the image of a friendly lion to Henry's quilt.

“So are you going to breast-feed?” Cordelia asked. “Pretty much everyone does these days, right?”

“I don't know about that, but yeah, I'm going to breast-feed. I'm a little worried about it, though.”

“Why? Like, if it will hurt?”

“No,” Sarah said. “I don't care about that. It's the logistics of it all. I'll have to pump enough milk so that while I'm at school my mother can feed the baby.”

“Oh. What about, you know, when you're out at a restaurant or something. Or at the beach.”

Sarah felt herself blush. “I know it sounds silly, but I'm pretty sure I'd feel too embarrassed to breast-feed outside of my home. It's just that, you know . . .”

Cordelia laughed. “I do know! You've never even worn a two-piece bathing suit, no matter how many times I've tried to talk you into buying one. If you're not comfortable showing your naked stomach to total strangers, how are you going to handle showing your naked breast—even a part of it—to the world?”

“Yeah. And forget about breast-feeding when my father is in the room. He comes from farm stock; he probably sees it as perfectly natural and practical. But I think I inherited a modesty gene, probably from my mother's side of the family.”

“Well, I wouldn't breast-feed in front of my father, either,” Cordelia said. “What's wrong with going into another room?”

“Some people would say that feeling embarrassed about breast-feeding is anti-feminist,” Sarah pointed out.

“Whatever! What ever happened to live and let live? I thought it was a free country!”

“Really. Do you know that back in May some girl in my French class asked me if I had posted pictures of my ‘bump' on my Facebook page?”

Cordelia laughed again. “First of all, you don't have a Facebook page!”

“And second, the whole obsession people have with posting ‘selfies' totally puzzles me. Well, to be honest, it actually kind of repulses me.”

“I know!” Cordelia cried. “And believe me, with all the time I spend online I see a lot of ‘selfies.' Half the time they're posing as if they're porn stars or something, pursing their lips and zooming in on their boobs. What's the point? Who are they trying to impress?”

Sarah smiled. “Boys, of course.”

“Boys who are going to expect them to be porn stars? Isn't that false advertising? My mother would call it being a tease.”

“I wonder how all those girls are going to feel about those selfies when they're older,” Sarah said musingly. “Are they going to be embarrassed? Or are they just going to think, hey, we were kids having fun, no big deal?”

Cordelia shrugged. “I have no idea. All I know is that I'm not advertising my cleavage on social media.”

“It all seems so frivolous,” Sarah said, “except that I suspect it's much more damaging than frivolous in the end.”

“Yeah,” Cordelia said. “Maybe.”

“Not that I have any right to criticize. I might not be into making suggestive poses and taking selfies, but I am pregnant. Sixteen and pregnant and not once in my life have I shown the tiniest bit of cleavage or bared my stomach or stuck out my butt other than to sit in a chair.”

“Hey. Be nice to yourself, Sarah.”

Sarah shrugged. “And I really hate when people call a woman's unborn baby a ‘bump'! I don't know, it somehow demeans the whole thing. I mean, sometimes being pregnant is unpleasant or inconvenient, but the
fact
of pregnancy is amazing and beautiful. It's a miracle.”

Cordelia smiled. “I'm so glad you feel that way, Sarah.”

“I really do. At least, now I do. At first, well, not so much.”

“Hey!” Cordelia cried. “I just had a great idea!”

“What?” Sarah asked.

“I know what the baby can dress as for Halloween! A lion! With a hat like a big fuzzy mane!”

Sarah laughed. “That would be adorable. And we'll definitely have to post
that
picture online!”

Adelaide and Cordelia were spending the day in Portland. It was the first time they had spent any significant amount of time alone together in a while. Adelaide had been thrilled that Cordelia had met her suggestion of a day out with such enthusiasm. It was, she hoped, another step toward healing.

They visited the museum in the morning and then had lunch at DiMillo's right on the water. After, they spent some time on Exchange Street, going into almost every one of the shops until Adelaide was exhausted from saying, “No, you can't have that pair of earrings,” and “No, we can't afford to pay three hundred dollars for a pair of shoes.” In a shop called Se Vende Imports, Cordelia had found a brass ring she declared she absolutely could not live without and, mercifully, it was only ten dollars. Ten dollars was not too much to pay for her daughter's happy smile.

Now they were sitting down by the ferry dock, watching the private sailboats, speedboats, and small excursion vessels bobbing at their moorings. The Old Port was jammed with tourists, some from the enormous cruise ship that had sailed into town that morning, but here, by the water, it was relatively quiet.

“I like playing tourist for a day,” Cordelia said. “Especially since we didn't get to go away this summer.”

“I'm really sorry about that,” Adelaide said. “We'll go next summer.”

“It's not a big deal. It's not like we live somewhere gross. Anyway, I wouldn't have wanted to leave Sarah for a whole week.”

Adelaide was so proud of the way Cordelia had stuck by her friend. She and Jack had raised—were still raising—a good person. They were very, very lucky.

“I really love my new ring. Thanks, Mom.”

“You're welcome. It looks good on your hand. And what's that nail polish color you're wearing?”

“Spanish Moss. Do you like it?”

“Ordinarily I wouldn't opt for green on nails. But yes, I do like it.”

“I was kind of bummed at first that I had to keep my nails shorter than I like because of the quilt. I mean, it's hard enough to sew with
short
nails!”

“But now?” Adelaide asked.

Cordelia shrugged. “Now, I don't really care. It was worth it. Besides, once the quilt is finished, I'll let my nails grow long again.”

Adelaide smiled. “Making the quilt
has
been a worthwhile thing, hasn't it?”

“Should we bring Dad something from Portland?” Cordelia said after a moment.

“Like what?”

Cordelia shrugged. “I don't know. Like, maybe a goofy hat or something.”

“Or maybe a cupcake from that place on Fore Street he likes.”

“Oh my God,” Cordelia cried, “that means I'll have to get one for myself, too, and I swore I wasn't going to eat dessert this week!”

“Okay then,” Adelaide said, biting back a smile, “a hat it is. But maybe something he'll actually wear.”

Cordelia frowned. “On second thought, he really does love those cupcakes . . .”

“And one cupcake isn't going to kill you, you know.”

Cordelia grinned and jumped up from the bench. “What are we waiting for?”

God,
Adelaide thought, following her daughter.
I am so lucky. I wouldn't trade this child for anyone or anything, ever.

Cindy and the girls were out shopping at the outlets in Kittery. They had stopped for lunch at a tiny clam shack, with only three tables inside and four picnic tables outside. They sat at one of those now, with one crab roll, one order of fried clams, one order of fish and chips, and three bottles of water. Eating out had always been a big treat and soon would probably be a thing of the past, at least until . . . Well, at least until things settled into place.

Cindy enjoyed these rare mother-daughter excursions and was glad that Adelaide had pressed her into taking the day off. Especially since the day before Adelaide and Cordelia had gone to Portland while Cindy and Sarah had manned the shop on what had turned out to be one of the busiest days of the season.

A tall, middle-aged woman in a lightweight tracksuit passed their table, carrying a tray of food. She stared blatantly at Sarah and continued to shoot glances at her after she was seated at the next table with a man in a similar tracksuit.

Cindy bristled but held her tongue. Maybe Sarah hadn't noticed the woman's rude interest.

“Doesn't that bother you?” Stevie asked. “When people give you weird looks?”

So much,
Cindy thought,
for discretion.

“I'm used to it,” Sarah said. “I don't like it, but I'm used to it.”

“I mean, how do they know you're not married or engaged? How do they know you're not a really young-looking twenty-one? Why is it any of their business?”

Sarah shrugged.

“If Clarissa were here,” Stevie said, shooting a scowl in the direction of the overly curious woman, “she'd probably leap over there and scratch that woman's eyes out!”

“Then I'm glad she's not here!” Cindy declared. “So what's left on our list besides a new paper towel holder? I can't believe that old one finally broke.”

“Well,” Stevie said, “it
was
plastic. Maybe we should get a metal one or maybe a wooden one.”

“If we came home with a wooden paper towel holder, your father would be—well, he wouldn't be angry, but he would point out that he could easily have made one himself.”

Sarah shook her head. “I'm always amazed at how many things he's good at. I mean, how did he learn to do so much?”

“He's smart,” Cindy said.

“He pays attention,” Stevie added. “He watches things closely to see how they're done. You know, we should get Dad something while we're here.”

Cindy frowned thoughtfully. “I don't think he needs anything.”

“But that's what will make it special. He won't be expecting anything. He'll be surprised.”

“Stevie's right,” Sarah said. “We have to find something perfect. He's always doing nice things for us.”

“Not that you don't do nice things for us, too, Mom.”

Cindy laughed. “No, you're right. Your father deserves a treat. But—what?”

“I got it!” Stevie cried. “Last week I saw his favorite Bruce Springsteen CD in the recycling bin. It was broken. Let's get him a new one.”

“Perfect,” Sarah said. “I wonder why he didn't say anything about it.”

“Because he didn't want one of us spending money on him,” Cindy said. “Well, we'll show your father!”