The Midwife's Confession (28 page)

She was taking wineglasses from a cabinet when I walked into the room and she looked surprised to see me.

“I thought I’d work in here,” I said.

“There’s so much more room to spread out in the office.”

“Too lonely in there,” I said as I rested the collage on the table and took a seat. I began looking through the photographs. There were a few pictures taken of Suzanne with Noelle over the years and I found them hard to look at.
Is Noelle pregnant in this picture?
I’d wonder.
How about in this one?

There were tons of pictures of Cleve at different ages. Skin the color of pecans. His dad’s jet-black hair and his mom’s blue eyes. Handsome child. Even better-looking young man. “Cleve was the most adorable kid,” I said to Emerson.

She was cleaning water spots off the wineglasses with a dish towel and she didn’t seem to hear me. Grace once told me I didn’t need another person to have a conversation with—that I was content to hold up both sides of it on my own—but that wasn’t the case. I stood and carried a picture of Cleve over to the sink where Emerson stood, holding it in front of her so she didn’t have to put down the glass in her hands. “He’s about three here, don’t you think? Isn’t he precious?”

Emerson barely glanced at the picture. Instead, she suddenly set the glass and dish towel on the counter and pulled me into her arms, surprising me. She held me tight. Almost too tight.

“Hey,” I said, patting her back. “What’s wrong?”

“I love you,” she said. “Sorry I’m so preoccupied.”

I drew away from her. There were tears in her eyes and I took her hand. “Emerson, what’s the matter?” I lowered my voice in case Jenny or Ted were around. “Is it all the stuff with Noelle?” I whispered, then it hit me. “Your grandfather! Is he—”

“He’s okay,” she said. “I think I just have major PMS or something.”

“O-kay,” I said slowly, not sure I believed her. She never complained about PMS. “Why don’t you lie down? I can get everything ready.”

“Do you mind?” She looked so relieved. “I didn’t sleep well last night and I—”

“Go.” I pushed her gently toward the hallway. “Everything’s under control. Don’t worry.”

“All right,” she said. “I’m going.”

I watched her walk down the hall. She needed a good nap, I thought, and she probably wouldn’t be able to get one until tomorrow when the party would be behind us. She had too much going on. All the revelations about Noelle. Her grandfather in hospice. Suzanne’s party. No wonder she was a wreck.

I sat down in front of the pictures again. I’d have to finish the collage, then make sure everything was ready for the caterer. And then I’d go home and get dressed. I wanted to take a picture of Grace in her new red dress, but I had the feeling she wouldn’t let me. I could imagine the two of us in the van together as we drove back over here to Emerson’s. Me blathering. Her quiet and still angry. We needed to finish that argument before the party, I thought as I glued a picture of Suzanne and Noelle in the lower corner of the collage. We needed to be done with it.

I reached in my purse for my phone and hit Redial again, but she didn’t pick up. She wasn’t going to make this easy.

35

Noelle

Wilmington, North Carolina
1994

“I just want it to be simple,” Noelle said. She and Ian were sitting in her Sunset Park living room with Tara and Emerson, whom she’d enlisted to help plan the November wedding. She had no experience and definitely no skill in that department.

“It can be simple in
style,
” Ian said, “but I’d really like to have all of our friends there.”

Noelle knew she drove Ian batty with her desire for simplicity. She’d already nixed the idea of a church wedding—something he’d wanted—as well as renting a reception hall. The engagement ring he’d given her had weighed down her hand with its diamond and she’d insisted they exchange it for something far less ostentatious. He’d wanted to get married in August, but she’d put him off until November so Tara and Emerson would be completely recovered from having their babies. Tara was due in late August, nearly a month away, while Emerson was due in mid-September. They would be her bridesmaids. No maid of honor. She was always careful to treat them equally.

“Maybe we need to define what
simple
means for each of you,” Tara said. She sat on one end of Noelle’s old sofa, a notepad on her lap and excitement in her eyes, thrilled to be planning a wedding. Emerson sat on the other end of the sofa, and Noelle thought they looked like counterweights—two very pregnant women holding down her couch. Emerson was going to make it this time. Her pregnancy had tested all of their nerves with one problem after another, and although she wanted a home birth there was no way Noelle would take that risk with her. She’d assist at her hospital delivery, but one of the OBs would be in charge and that was definitely the way she wanted it. As long as everything continued to look good for Tara, though, her baby would be born at home.

“Simple to me means getting married in something comfortable,” Noelle said. “You know, just what I wear every day.”

Ian let out a small groan. He looked at Tara and Emerson. “See what I have to put up with?” His voice was so full of love that Noelle leaned over to kiss his cheek. He was a sweet guy. They would have a good marriage. She was determined to make that happen.

“So let’s get serious for a minute.” Tara clicked her pen above the notepad on her lap. “November’s too cold for an outside wedding, and since you don’t want to go the church route, Noelle, how about having it at my house? We have the room. Everybody might not be able to sit down for the ceremony, but there’s tons of space.”

“And I can do some of the cooking,” Emerson added, “and—”

“I don’t want you two to go to any trouble,” Noelle said. Being married in Sam’s house after all that had passed between them made her feel squeamish. “You’ll both have new babies, and trust me, any spare minute you have, you’ll want to sleep.”

“Oh, let us do it.” Tara brushed away the protest. “You know we’ll love every second.”

Ian looked at Noelle. “I like the idea of having it at Tara and Sam’s,” he said. “We can pay to have someone move furniture around and clean up before and after. And you can wear whatever you want.”

“No, she can’t,” Tara said. “Em and I will take her shopping. If I see her walking down the aisle in one of her old skirts, I’ll—”

“There’ll be an aisle?” Noelle interrupted. “I don’t want an aisle.” She didn’t. She didn’t want all that attention focused on her.

“It’s a figure of speech,” Tara said. “You can be married in front of our fireplace.”

It was a nice image, Ian and herself in front of the fireplace, their hands joined, their friends surrounding them. She was surprised when her eyes misted over at the thought. “Well,” she said to Tara, “why don’t you check with Sam about having it at your house,” she said. “Make sure it’s cool with him.”

“Oh, it’ll be fine with Sam,” Tara said.

Noelle wasn’t so sure. Her relationship with Tara had deepened during the months of prenatal care, and she’d discovered that the intimacy she always experienced with her patients was even more intense when that patient was a close friend. But things still felt a little strained between her and Sam. They were improving as he became more and more involved in the pregnancy, but she knew he had reservations about her being their midwife. Not that he didn’t trust her skills—he did—but he seemed uncomfortable being around her in any sort of emotional situation. He never said as much, of course; they didn’t talk that openly to each other anymore. It was that “not talking” that told her of his discomfort. She missed him and she blamed herself for the distance between them.

She was reminded of that night on the beach in every small twisting motion she made with her back and in the sleepless nights when her muscles tightened up and wouldn’t let go. She needed more medication to get through the day and—as long as she had no possibility of a delivery—even more at night. Her mounting dependence on the drugs scared her. Right now, right as she was sitting in her living room planning the wedding, she had a welcome Percocet buzz going on and she didn’t know how she would be able to function without it. How much of her pain was physical and how much emotional, she wondered, borne of a guilt and a longing that wouldn’t go away?

It was time to
make
it go away.

“You know what?” she said now to Ian. “I don’t care how we do it. Whatever you want is fine with me. I just want to be your wife.”

“Yay!” Emerson clapped her hands together.

“That’s the spirit!” Tara said, and jotted something down on her notepad.

Ian smiled at her, pink coins of surprise on his cheeks. “Would you consider the church, then?” he asked, pushing.

“Yes.” She gave him an emphatic nod. “You want the church? We’ll do the church.”

What did it matter? She wanted to marry Ian. She loved him as much as she knew how and she would do everything she could to make him happy. With any luck, in a couple of years they’d start their own family. For now, though, as she sat there with a man who adored her, her two best friends and enough drugs in her system to ease the ache in her back, she felt something approaching contentment, and that was more than she could ask for.

36

Emerson

Wilmington, North Carolina
2010

What the hell was I going to do?

I’d wanted Suzanne’s party to be special, but I was so wrapped up in what I now knew about Tara and Grace that as people arrived and began eating and drinking and laughing and talking, I felt as though I was experiencing the whole thing underwater. I saw faces, but they were blurry. I heard words but couldn’t make them out. I wanted the night to be over, and more than anything, I didn’t want to be alone any longer with what I knew. I moved through the rooms torn between heartache and indecision. What was I going to do?

People seemed to be having a good time. Everyone was gathering around Suzanne, making toasts and cracking jokes and celebrating her fifty hard-earned years, but even if my mind hadn’t been full of Grace and Tara, I would have been miserable. The party, with so many of the babies-in-need volunteers present, reminded me too much of the gathering after Noelle’s memorial service only three weeks earlier. Three weeks that felt like a lifetime. Things were moving too fast for me. I had the feeling that everything was spinning out of control.

Ted walked toward me where I stood between the living and dining rooms, a drink in his hand. He rubbed my shoulder. “Nice job, Em,” he said. “You holding up okay? I know you didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“I’m fine.” I smiled at him. At least, I hoped I was smiling. I had no idea
what
I was doing. I felt drugged by exhaustion and anxiety. I hadn’t slept at all the night before, and when I’d told Tara that afternoon that I wanted a nap, it had been a lie. I’d only wanted to get away from her. I couldn’t look at her. It was like knowing your best friend was going to die very soon and you could do nothing to stop it and nothing to warn her.

I was kicking myself for digging into Noelle’s past. For not tossing out that carton of cards and letters like Ted had suggested. I could still do it. Throw away the letter, the articles, the record books. I could make this nightmare go away. All I had to do was keep my mouth shut. But I knew I could never live the rest of my life with this secret.

Grace and Tara had arrived early so that Tara could help me put the finishing touches on everything. There’d been a sheet of ice between the two of them and I sensed Tara’s frustration over not being able to break it. Obviously, Grace hadn’t forgiven her for… What had Tara done? Thrown away Sam’s mug? Oh, that felt like such a small thing. Such a tiny, inconsequential thing. Yet Grace was still angry. She’d barely said hi to me before running upstairs to Jenny’s room, while Tara met with the caterer and the bartender and I moved woodenly through the house, pretending to be busy.

Now the kids—Cleve, Jenny and Grace—were all upstairs. They’d put in just enough time with the adults to be polite before disappearing. Jenny was sniffling with the hint of a cold, but seemed otherwise fine, though I knew she was upset Devon wasn’t there. He was traveling with his family for the long weekend. Cleve had grown even more handsome in his month and a half away from home, if that was possible. But it was Grace I’d had my eye on, of course, as I examined her features, searching for a trace of Tara or Sam in them. She looked beautiful. I’d never thought of that word with regard to Grace before. Adorable, yes. But beautiful? Yet her strapless red dress hugged her body perfectly. It wasn’t provocative, but it exposed the gentle slope of her small breasts and Cleve’s gaze kept darting in that direction. Her hair was a thick, sleek curtain of silk down her back, and she was wearing smoky eye makeup. Not too much, but enough to alter her features. Her eyes had always been unusual. They were brown like Tara’s, but when you looked closely, you saw that they were filled with jewel-like splinters of jade. Whatever clever thing she’d done with her makeup tonight made her eyes seem greener than ever.

Suddenly, she didn’t look like Grace at all and I was upset as I tried to find the girl I loved in this new young woman. I used to think I could see Sam in her, more in her mannerisms than in her facial features. She had that same shy smile that had seemed affable and warm on Sam but made Grace look unsure of herself. Seeing her insecurity as she tried to talk to the adults at the party, the ones she didn’t know well, tore at my heart. This girl was part of us and we loved her. We’d raised her, all of us. There was no way we would let her go. No way I could allow Tara to lose her daughter right after losing her husband. She
wouldn’t
lose her, would she? Certainly not physically. Grace couldn’t be taken away from her mother at the age of sixteen. Although, what did I know about the legalities of such a bizarre situation? I
didn’t
know, and that scared me. On top of that, I thought of how Tara would feel when she realized that the baby she’d given birth to had died. What had Noelle done with that baby? I didn’t want to think about that baby girl, forgotten and unmourned.