East Hope (23 page)

A little after six that evening, Caroline carried a glass of iced tea to her mother's living room.

“You're tired, dear. Go relax,” Peg had said. “I'll join you in a minute.”

Caroline sat on the faded sofa that faced the fireplace. She pushed a pillow behind her back and shifted her weight to avoid the nudge of a spring beneath her. The arms of the club chair next to her were worn, and the seat bore the indentation of continual use, her mother's preferred chair. Each time Caroline came home to her childhood house in Connecticut, she was struck by how much smaller and older everything looked.

Her parents had lived most of their married lives in this Tudor-style stone house. It was situated on over an acre of land, and judging from the monster-sized houses on neighboring streets, this eminently forgettable modest house would one day be torn down to make room for something grander: a house with more bathrooms than bedrooms, a circular driveway, a gourmet kitchen with runways of granite countertops, and a three-car garage.

Caroline's father, an accountant with a modest firm in Connecticut, had made a nice living. Their family would have been considered well-off, even wealthy by many. Hers had been a comfortable life: bicycles, dancing lessons, piano, braces, a few family vacations (one out west, two to Florida), the annual week on a lake in New Hampshire, and college educations—all this had been provided. They belonged to a country club too. Her mother still played tennis there, as well as bridge several afternoons a week. She complained of the fees going up, despite the lower dues for widows, saying that the place was becoming too fancy for people on a fixed income like her.

Looking around this living room now, where the curtains hadn't been changed in thirty years, Caroline knew that her mother didn't have the means to help her financially. She was thankful that Harry's firm had agreed to cover Caroline's health insurance for another year. With her pay from the cookbook job, and by staying in Maine for the year and renting out her house, she would have just enough to manage. Harry's father paid for Rob's college, something he had asked to do even before Harry had died. This came as a huge relief to her now. Perhaps he had known something of his son's business worries.

The steady hum of the room air conditioner started to lull Caroline to sleep. Recently she had felt perfectly fine, except for sudden bouts of sleepiness, especially in the afternoon.

“Goodness. You are tired.” Her mother sat in her expected place and set her drink, a small glass of bourbon and orange juice, on the table beside her.

Caroline straightened and sipped her iced tea.

“Darcy's on her way over,” her mother said. “Walter has a dinner meeting, so Darcy said she'll eat with us.”

This was not good news. Caroline wanted time alone with her mother, who would not easily understand or accept all the decisions she had made. Forty-something women, and certainly widows, did not become unwed mothers in this neat, predictable world. Her ever-perfect sister, Darcy, would be quick to point that out.

“I'd hoped we could be on the patio, but it's just too damned hot.” Her mother rarely spoke so harshly. “We never had summers this bad when you were growing up.” She frowned and reached for her glass.

Caroline's mother looked well for her age. All the years of playing tennis had kept her figure trim, though each time Caroline came home she noticed subtle changes. Tonight Peg seemed a bit less strong, less defined. It was as if she were fading and becoming slightly tattered, like her living room, gently worn, less and less of who she once was.

“Darcy said that she read—”

“Mom. There's something we need to talk about.”

“Does it get this hot in Maine?”

“I've decided to stay there for the next year.”

“In East Hope? But you said you were driving home.” Her mother looked confused, and annoyed too. She didn't like deviating from any set plan.

“I'm driving home now, but I'm only staying for a few weeks. Rob will join me next weekend. After he leaves for school I'm going back to Aunt Lila's house.”

“Isn't the place ready to sell?”

“Things have changed. I'm afraid Harry made some bad investments, and money is a real problem.”

“Harry?” Her mother raised her eyebrows and looked doubtful. “Caroline, dear, there was never anyone so careful. I can't believe he'd ever do anything like that.”

“Mom, I don't want to go into everything, but there was this one company—actually, there was one man who convinced Harry that a certain drug, a wonder drug, something to do with curing autoimmune disorders, would be a major breakthrough. I never really understood it.”

The image of Sunil Gava popped into her head, that dark, handsome man whom they had entertained a few years before Harry had died. He had flown in from California, and after that one meeting Harry had taken many trips to Los Angeles. Sunil, whom she'd thought young to be involved in such an important business deal, had been charming. She remembered him wearing a black blazer and slim leather Italian shoes, making him look more European than what she'd assumed to be Californian, where she pictured a land of blond surfers and superfit outdoor types in jeans and flip-flops. He'd been especially attentive to her, complimenting her on dinner and sending her flowers the morning after the party.

“The market was so slow for several years,” she tried to explain, “I think Harry thought this was his big break, a way of recouping some really bad investments.”

“Harry had other investments too.”

“Not in the end. He felt he needed to put all of our capital in Avistar.”

“He put everything in one company?” she asked, her voice pitched high in amazement.

“Mother, I can't explain it. Harry was under a lot of pressure then. He wasn't really himself.” In the beginning Harry had been so excited about Sunil's company and the promised drug. He'd explained to her about trial studies, FDA regulations, astonishing results in a Mexican clinic. He'd come back from the trips elated and couldn't stop talking about being so lucky that he'd discovered Sunil and had been allowed to be involved in the early stages of the venture.

“Can't you just sell the house in Maine and be done with it?” her mother said. She took another sip of what she called her nightly poison. Peg Russell was never one to ruminate over decisions. Everything about her was practical: gray hair cut short, hair color being too expensive and time-consuming, a no-iron beige skirt and bright blue knit polo shirt, the color of her eyes. Her tanned bare legs were speckled from years in the sun, and she wouldn't bother with stockings until the weather became cool in November.

“I'm going to wait and sell the house next summer,” Caroline said. “There's another reason I plan to stay there. You may find this difficult to understand,” she said. She took the paper napkin, cool and damp, from under her glass of tea and wiped her forehead. “I'm pregnant. I made a terrible mistake. Remember I told you about the dinner party I went to in May?”

“You're pregnant?” Peg stared at her daughter.

“I want to have this child. I know it seems crazy. I'm sure you think I'm making a terrible mistake, but I've thought a lot and—”

“Don't assume what I think, Caroline,” Peg said abruptly. She set her drink on the coaster beside her, then looked carefully at her daughter. “It's because you lost Grace.”

“It's more than that,” she said.

“But that is why. You must have always wanted another child.”

“Mom, her death was terrible. Harry and I got through it. We moved on. I just never got pregnant. Rob was more than enough. We were happy.”

Peg seemed to consider this. “Goodness, it is quite astonishing, when you think of it.”

“It is.” Caroline had had that same thought over and over.

“It's just so much to take on. You'll be all by yourself.”

“I won't be alone. I'll have my baby.”

“That's hardly a reason to have a child. I mean, you could get a dog, for that matter. Certainly simpler.”

“How can you say that? We're talking about a child, my family.”

Her mother drew her hands together and held them close to her chest. “What about the father?” She spoke with remarkable calm.

“Mom, it was a mistake, a one-night fling. He means nothing to me.” She looked at the floor, once again ashamed of her situation. “I want to have this baby,” she said defiantly. “It's a sort of second chance.” Caroline leaned back on the sofa, limp with exhaustion.

“I can understand that.” Her mother, still calm, reached for her bourbon, took a drink, and set the glass back on the end table. “You've lost so much. I'm amazed at how well you've coped.” Caroline had expected a different reaction entirely, maybe disapproval, at least disappointment at her daughter's irresponsible behavior.

“You are?”

“First Grace. All those years without her. Not being able to have another.”

“Oh, Mom.” Caroline began to cry and drew one hand to her face.

“And then to lose Harry.” Caroline's mother came over and sat beside her on the sofa. She stroked her hair and rested her arm around her shoulder. “You've had a terrible ordeal. I can see how a baby would seem like an incredible gift. But if you're determined to do this, you can't do it by yourself. You've got to come here.”

“No, Mom.”

“I can help you.”

“I'm happy in Maine. I'll be fine there.”

“You'll be so far from your family.”

Caroline thought of having Lila's house to herself, the village all but empty once the summer residents left for their other homes, no one to watch what she was doing, no one to wonder why. The solitude and peace of that place flowed into her thoughts, so strong she could practically taste it. The combination of the land, even her small thriving herb garden, the water that caught her eye everywhere she turned, the air so clean and fresh, made her long to return. It dawned on her that she wished she were driving north tomorrow, back to East Hope, and not to Washington, the place she had long thought of as home. Lila's house had claimed her. She missed it. “It's okay. I'll be fine in Maine.”

“Please, Caroline, just think about it.”

“Maybe later. We'll see.” Kindness shone in her mother's wrinkled face, but also worry, a shadow of doubt.

“There's another thing,” her mother said. “If you're going through with this, you've got to be honest. You've got to tell Pete.”

“How did you know it was Pete?” Caroline was shocked. She had never said he was the man at the party.

“You told me he and Marjorie had invited you to a dinner party. I may be getting old, but I'm not stupid.” She tilted her head and raised her eyebrows. “You told me he's spent hours with you sorting out Harry's papers. He's always been fond of you. I can see how you two might have grown close.” She smiled briefly before her expression grew more serious. “You've got to tell him. He has a right to know.”

“Mother, there's nothing between us.”

“That's beside the point. He's the father.”

Caroline groaned. “You're right. I know.”

“What about Marjorie?”

“She never has to know. It has nothing to do with her.”

“Doesn't it? Though I guess that's Pete's responsibility.” Her mother shot her a wry look. “You also have to tell Rob.”

Caroline leaned forward. It was what she feared most.

Her mother took Caroline's hand and held it. “He's old enough to know. In another month or two he'll certainly know.”

Caroline tried to speak, but couldn't. The tears were choking her.

“He's not going to understand at first. You shouldn't expect him to,” her mother said. “He will in time. He loves you, Caroline.”

“Oh, Mom.”

“There, there.” Her mother continued to hold her. “I'll help you. You seem to forget you're giving me another grandchild.”

Caroline was grateful for her mother's touch. As a child she had often gone to her father for comfort—he'd been the more nurturing parent, a quiet man, always ready to stop and listen. Caroline heard a car on the gravel drive. “Don't tell Darcy yet.”

“She's going to figure it out sometime.”

“Just not yet. Rob should know first.” She drew in another breath. “And, as you said, I have to talk to Pete.”

“Where is everybody?” Darcy's voice could be heard from the kitchen. A door slammed. In that instant Caroline knew she could not stand to go through this pregnancy with Darcy close at hand, second-guessing everything.

“Go upstairs and wash your face.” Caroline's mother stood, her efficient self once again. “We're in here, dear,” she called back. She nodded toward the stairs. “It's all right. I'll get Darcy to help me serve dinner.”

Somehow Caroline managed to survive the evening. Darcy, four years older than Caroline, and at least four inches taller, was everything that Caroline was not. She wore her perfectly straight blond hair shoulder length and pulled neatly under a headband. That night she wore cream linen pants and a white shirt that complemented her even tan. Darcy wore only beige and white in summer, and black and gray in winter. A few years ago she had sworn off color and given Caroline a stack of her luxurious cashmere sweaters, all in luscious bright shades. Darcy had gone to law school, married Walter, and, after two years working in a big New York firm, gave up her career to care for her two children, who were already on their way to becoming just like their parents.