East Hope (44 page)

Moonlight flooded the bedroom. Her heart felt tight in her chest. She struggled to sit and, placing her feet on the floor, she cradled her hands under her enormous belly and walked to the window at the front of the house. The lawn sloped in a silvery blanket down toward the bay, cold in the moonlight. Caroline searched for Will's lights across the water. It was still early, not even ten, but his place was dark. She remembered her foolish message. He probably had plans to go away for the holidays. Maybe, she thought, he had gone back to his wife.

Caroline shivered. That night she felt the weight of winter. The floor was icy on her bare feet. She lumbered slowly back to bed and pulled the sheet, now cold, and blankets up to her chin. Hot tears streaked her face. The baby's feet moved, pressing into her ribs as if to remind her that she was not alone. Instead, that small jolt made her loneliness all the more acute. How she longed to be held, to be comforted, to have arms around her as she sought the temporary solace of sleep.

“Will, why don't you move down here?” Rusty asked. Two years older, Will's brother was a shorter, more solidly built version of himself. They sat together in the lanai, the screened-in room at the back of Rusty's house in West Palm Beach.

Will shook his head. He had just told Rusty that he and Mary Beth were getting a divorce and he planned to stay in Maine and run Taunton's.

“Let's have a nightcap.” Rusty stood. “Come on, it's Christmas Eve.”

“Sure, why not?” Will stretched his legs. The novel sensation of moist tropical air made him feel good. This was the perfect place to unwind and relax. Rusty's wife, Jenna, was upstairs reading to their three boys. She had insisted that Will and Rusty should have some time together after dinner. The day had been filled with errands, a few hours at a public park tossing around a baseball, a noisy spaghetti dinner, the boys' favorite meal.

“I mean, seriously, how can you make any money selling old books?”

“You can't,” Will said. He laughed. “Well, maybe a little. I've sort of gotten hooked on it, though.”

Rusty handed Will a snifter of cognac and, after pouring one for himself, sat again, swirling the contents of his glass. Will leaned back and cradled the back of his head with his hands. Though Will hadn't been there for long, he could already see how his brother had made a good life for himself: big house, fancy cars, but most important, he had a great family.

“Okay, okay. So you like this business,” Rusty said. “Run it in the summer and come on down here for the rest of the year. The boys would love to have Uncle Will at their beck and call.”

“Thanks.” Will took a swallow of his drink. “I need to earn a living, and I'm looking for a teaching job near me up there.”

“Tons of colleges around here. It might be easier to find a job here.”

“You're probably right. Crazy as it seems, I want to be there. I'm going to make it work. There's something about the place itself that draws me. It's partly the water, the land. I'm not going to give up.”

Will told Rusty about Crystal, tutoring, and his mistake in not telling the school about Habliston. “Jack Mathews is going to write to the school. I think I've got the guidance counselor on my side, but the principal is a little dictator. This time I'm going to stick up for myself, like I should have in Habliston.”

“Do you wish now that you'd stayed in Pennsylvania?”

“I should have stayed to clear my name, or at least tried. Maybe it all happened for a reason. I don't miss the place now. I guess there was more wrong there with Mary Beth than I let myself believe.” Will looked out into the night. The moon shone down across the lawn, the same moon that shone tonight over the bay in East Hope. Will rubbed his forearms, which were bare to the night air. So strange not to feel cold.

After a pause Will spoke again. “There's also a woman.” It was easy saying these things in the dark.

“In Maine?” Rusty asked.

“Yeah.”

“Is it serious?”

“I can't really answer that yet.”

“Here's to your future,” Rusty said, lifting his glass.

“To the future,” Will said. He sipped his drink. The cognac slipped smoothly down his throat. Will closed his eyes and thought of Caroline. Maybe one day there would be more of a story to tell his brother.

Christmas dinner at Vern and Dottie's helped fill what would have otherwise been a long and lonely day for Caroline. The small cape was filled with family of all ages, but as soon as she had stepped inside, she realized that this lively family celebration was uniquely theirs, and try as they might to include her, she would never be a part of their world.

A large fir tree with blinking colored lights filled the bay window in the living room. Two of the grandchildren were busy with a game on the computer, and Vern's son and brother were caught up watching a Boston Bruins hockey game on the TV in the den.

Vern seemed pleased with the wool vest that Caroline had brought him, and Dottie was visibly touched by the quilted tote bag that Caroline had bought that fall at a craft fair in Belfast. Dottie said it would be perfect for her knitting, and she presented Caroline with a hand-knit yellow baby blanket bordered with ducks. She was delighted by this lovely gift, which must have taken Dottie many long evenings to complete.

When the flurry of gift giving subsided, Dottie and her daughter-in-law went off to put the finishing touches on dinner, and Marsha, Vern's nephew's wife, pulled Caroline aside to talk about babies. To Caroline, Marsha, skinny in tight blue jeans and a pink mohair sweater, didn't look much older than Rob, yet she was the mother of a three-month-old baby, Victoria, who slept blissfully in her bassinet next to the sofa.

“She's beautiful,” Caroline said.

“An easy baby too,” Marsha said, “or so I've been told. She's our first.”

Indeed, little Victoria slept through the noise from the television, Dottie calling out for Vern to come and carve the turkey, and the thumping sound coming from the computer game on a table in the corner, along with periodic outbursts from the two grandchildren as to whose turn it was. Caroline wondered briefly whether Marsha had been given the assignment to convey all the joys of caring for a newborn, sharing tidbits of wisdom with her, as if Caroline had never been a mother. Marsha told her that nursing wasn't all that it was cracked up to be, where to go for the cheapest disposable diapers, and how her girlfriends had given her a glider, much better than a rocking chair, as a shower gift.

Caroline, after hearing a long account of Victoria's sleep schedule, was relieved when it was time to go in to dinner. It struck her that she was the only one there not part of a pair—all couples, two sets of children, and the lovely balance of Vern at one end of the table and Dottie at the other. Though they were seated far apart, Caroline noticed the ease with which they exchanged understanding glances, a happy complicity, surrounded by the members of their family. All were kind, but Caroline couldn't help feeling like the odd man out, the extra guest at the table.

“Wonderful sweet potatoes,” Dottie said, and lifted Caroline's casserole to pass once again.

“Caroline writes cookbooks,” Vern announced. “Pretty fancy stuff.”

“You mean for bookstores?” Marsha's husband looked up from his plate piled high.

Caroline told them about the vegetable book she had edited recently, and that she was working on a proposal for a new book based on vintage New England recipes.

“Kids nowadays don't eat enough vegetables,” Vern's brother said, and asked his wife to pass the gravy.

In the next few minutes the talk turned back to the upcoming football play-offs and, eventually, back to ice hockey. Caroline was glad to no longer be the center of attention. Along with the sweet potato soufflé that she had brought as her contribution, they ate turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, a green bean casserole, and creamed onions. Caroline took only small portions of each dish, as her baby was giving her heartburn after even the smallest meals. Still, she drizzled Dottie's lush velvety gravy over everything, knowing that later she might have to pay the price for this indulgence. The meal seemed to go on a long time. It had begun to get dark.

“Haven't seen your friend Will lately,” Vern said to her.

Caroline straightened in her chair. “He must be away,” she said. “I haven't seen any lights over there for a while.” She wondered again if Will was back with his wife.

“Said he was closing Taunton's for the winter,” Vern said. “Not many tourists passing through this time of year.”

Charlie, Vern's brother, an older, frailer version of Vern, said, “That bookstore fella? Martha, down at the café, said he went to Florida.”

“Funny,” Dottie said, “I wouldn't have thought him one of the snowbirds.”

“I thought he was sticking around this winter,” Vern said.

Caroline pushed back her chair. Her stomach felt queasy. She never should have eaten the gravy. The others started to rise from the table to clear plates. The next game was about to start.

“Now, now,” Dottie said. “You know I can't have everyone in the kitchen at once. Besides, there's dessert coming.”

“Please, I'd really like to help,” Caroline said. Why hadn't Will told her he was going away? He had said nothing about Florida when they had lunch at Karen's Café. He had really opened up to her that day, or had she imagined that? He probably never heard her stupid message.

“I'm going to help Dottie,” Marsha said. “Caroline, you need to stay off your feet. Believe me, in another month you're never going to sit down.” She gave Caroline a knowing glance.

“I really don't mind,” Caroline said.

“Here,” said Marsha, handing to Caroline in one swift gesture little Victoria, who had been sleeping in her arms. “Why don't you go rock her in the living room for a bit. I'd love her to sleep a little longer. Besides, I know Dottie's kitchen. You can practice up for your baby.”

Vern's daughter told her two children to clear the table. Her kids, who earlier had been vying for time on the computer, had been passing an electronic game back and forth under the table. “We want to help Grandpa with his puzzle,” her son said, looking to his sister for support. Vern collected jigsaw puzzles, and an array of pieces of the new one, a painting of an antique schooner, had been spread out on a card table in the living room.

“You'll clear the table first,” their mother reprimanded gently. “I'm going to help set out the pies.”

“Please, Grandpa?” begged the older granddaughter.

“After dessert, kids,” Vern said, reaching over to tug at her ponytail in an affectionate gesture.

Caroline rose and walked carefully into the living room with Marsha's baby in her arms. She lowered herself into the rocking chair next to the Christmas tree, moving slowly so as to not wake her. Victoria had a miniature sweet face and downy fuzz on her head that stood straight up, giving her an astonished appearance, though her eyes remained tightly closed. She was tiny in every way, nose, hands, fingers, perfectly formed nails, yet she was a person, her very own person, reminding Caroline that soon another such person would be in her arms.

She cradled this baby as best she could. Her own baby, in the gigantic form of her belly, was very much in the way, already filling her lap. This child felt strange to her, awkwardly perched in her arms. She worried that the urge to love and nurture that had gushed forth twice before in her life would remain atrophied within her.

She was glad to have a few moments alone, and longed for the moment she could politely make her departure. The blinking Christmas lights reflecting in the big picture window behind the tree partly masked the dark night outside. Not a star in the sky. Victoria's head wiggled against Caroline's arm and the baby began to fuss, small noises of displeasure, as if she suddenly realized that Caroline's arms were not her own mother's.