The Beach Quilt (21 page)

Adelaide was sitting at her desk in the den. She opened her laptop with the intention of doing some further research on the commercial value of Cindy's quilts. She had put out some feelers to colleagues across the country and already many of them had responded with questions and suggestions and quotes that in some cases were astonishingly high—too high for The Busy Bee to afford.

Heavy footsteps sounded from the hall. Time and again Adelaide had asked Cordelia not to clump through the house, but she continued to clump and Adelaide suspected that she was fighting a losing battle. Not that Cordelia was consciously defying her mother. She just couldn't seem to keep simple requests in mind.

Unlike Sarah. Adelaide felt bad about what had happened at The Busy Bee. Sarah was trying so hard to prove that she was a hard worker and a good person. It was inevitable that she would occasionally break under the strain of all that self-imposed discipline. For the rest of the afternoon, after the departure of that carnival-like woman, Sarah had worked especially diligently, even taking the trash out back to the bins, a task that ordinarily was not hers.

A crash from the kitchen made Adelaide jump in her seat.

“Sorry!” Cordelia yelled. “The broom fell out of the closet. I forgot to put the latch on the door.”

Case in point. Cordelia and responsibility were not necessarily in sympathy. God forbid it were Cordelia who was pregnant, Adelaide had no doubt that Grandma would be shouldering most of the day-to-day burden.

What a mean-spirited thought,
Adelaide thought, shaking her head. Still, it did make her think about how Cindy and Sarah would divide the decision-making regarding the baby. She suspected they were in for a power struggle no matter how close they had always been. What was that old saying, something about there not being enough room in a house for two women in charge. Well, some might find that sexist, and it probably was, but there was some truth to it, as there always was in those old adages.

What would happen while Sarah was in class for eight hours a day? Cindy would be the one making the moment-to-moment decisions, some of which Sarah might resent or disagree with. Would Cindy become, in effect, a nanny, subject to Sarah's rules and demands? Or, and this seemed somehow more likely, would Cindy naturally assume the mother's role, be more parent than grandparent? Only time would tell, but Adelaide foresaw a degree of messiness.

Well, the entire situation was fraught with messiness. Adelaide thought about the time just before finals in June when a girl in Sarah's grade had called her an appalling name. Jack had been sick about the incident. For one, he had worked very hard in a campaign against bullying of any sort on the school's premises and it was always a severe disappointment when an incident did occur. And, in this case, there had been something more personal at stake. In some ways, Sarah and Stevie Bauer were the Kanes' surrogate daughters. Adelaide and Jack had known them for most of their lives, had watched them grow alongside their own daughter. They had attended their birthday parties and school plays and had taken the girls on excursions to Funtown Splashtown and the aquarium in Boston.

Jack had managed to keep the incident quiet; even Cordelia didn't seem to know about it. If she had been a witness to the incident, well, Adelaide had no doubt her daughter would have gone in with guns blazing to protect Sarah.

Adelaide's cell phone rang. She didn't recognize the number but as she used the phone almost exclusively for business purposes she answered.

“Hello? Yes, this is Adelaide Kane. Oh, you're calling about the quilts. Yes, they're still for sale. Really?”

Adelaide felt her heart race. Just wait until she told Cindy about this!

Cindy arrived at The Busy Bee to find Adelaide beaming. And when she beamed, she reminded Cindy a wee bit of a human lighthouse. The fact that she was wearing a red blouse added to the impression of exceeding brightness.

“Good news!” she cried. “We got a very generous offer for your family's quilts from the Museum of Americana.”

Cindy's stomach fell. “Oh.”

“They're a small museum in Tennessee, only ten years old, and intent on building their collection. The man I spoke to, someone in the acquisitions department, was ecstatic to have found us. Isn't it wonderful?”

Cindy braced herself for what might very well be an understandably angry reaction from her friend. “I'm sorry,” she said. “I should have said something sooner. I've decided I just can't part with the quilts.”

Adelaide nodded promptly. “I understand.”

“You're not going to try to talk me into selling?” Cindy asked. Adelaide's reply had truly surprised her, particularly after her earlier show of great enthusiasm. “After all, you did all the research to determine a price. And you spoke with this person from the museum. I feel as if I've wasted your time. I feel as if I've put you in an awkward position.”

“No, of course I'm not going to try to convince you to sell,” Adelaide assured her. “And assessing the quilts' value wasn't a waste of time at all. I learned a thing or two.”

Cindy felt enormously relieved. “Thank you, Adelaide,” she said. “Really.”

“Actually, Cindy, I know why you were considering a sale, but frankly, I was surprised. Those works of art are a tangible part of your family's history. If I had something like that from my ancestors, even if it was a really amateurish portrait painted by some great-great-great-grandmother I'd barely heard of, I don't think I'd ever be able to part with it.”

“You might if you really needed the money.”

Cindy thought that Adelaide seemed a little embarrassed by her comment. “Yes,” Adelaide said after a moment. “Well.”

“I hope I'm making the right decision,” she said.

“I suspect that you are,” Adelaide said, her tone reassuring. “And if someday you come to decide it's time to part with them, you can easily put them back on the market.”

“Right,” Cindy said, but she knew now there would never be a time when she would be able to part with the quilts. That was okay. Money could be made in other ways.

“I'll take care of the museum people,” Adelaide said then.

“Thanks. I hope they're not going to be mad.”

Adelaide shrugged. “Oh, I doubt they'll be mad. Maybe a bit annoyed and certainly disappointed. But they'll survive. And I bet you they leave the door open for a future sale. The quality of those quilts is outstanding.”

And, Cindy thought, Adelaide was an outstanding friend. “The girls will be by at the end of the day to work on the baby's quilt,” she said. “I thought maybe I'd treat everyone to takeout Chinese.”

Adelaide laughed. “You'll find no argument from Cordelia! And I'll pay for half.”

Cordelia was lying on her bed. Pinky was standing, somewhat lopsidedly, on her stomach, his round, blue, plastic eyes staring at nothing from the sides of his head.

“Pinky,” she said. “I'm tired of feeling grumpy.”

Ever since her last confrontation with Sarah, Cordelia had been feeling bad. Okay, Sarah
was
being self-centered but maybe that was normal and maybe it was even necessary. What was really important was the baby after all, and if Sarah needed to focus entirely on herself in order to be a good mother, well, Cordelia—and everyone else—was just going to have to tolerate her behavior.

Besides, Sarah wasn't
always
going on about herself. It was only on occasion.

Cordelia sighed and glanced over at her dresser, on top of which sat a pile of colorful cotton cloth, her less than perfect contribution to Sarah's baby's quilt. She knew that she shouldn't have lost her temper with Sarah. She really should work on being more patient. A new pair of sneakers, even really awesome ones, didn't compare in importance with having a baby. Still, Cordelia just couldn't imagine trading her interest in—well, in everything!—to concentrate on having a baby at the age of sixteen!

Frankly, she wasn't even sure she
ever
wanted to have children. The thought of childbirth frightened her; she wasn't a fan of pain, even a splinter sent her howling, and she regularly fainted at the dentist before Dr. Horutz even touched her, and they said you never got your body back after you had a baby, and her own body was big enough already, thank you very much! And, more importantly, she suspected that her maternal instincts didn't exist. At least, they certainly hadn't made themselves known. Maybe they never would and she would never have to deal with morning sickness and sore breasts and nasty things like an episiotomy. Cordelia felt faint even saying the word in her head.

How could she be so vastly different from her best friend? Sarah was so weirdly calm about the prospect of giving birth. Unless she was pretending. But why should she lie? Well, why did anyone lie? For a million, billion reasons that often made sense only to the person lying and sometimes, not even then.

Cordelia put her finger on the tip of Pinky's velvety horn. Her mother had told her what had happened with Sarah and that woman at the shop the other day. Poor Sarah. She must feel so embarrassed about losing her temper. And really, Cordelia couldn't blame her. Strangers shouldn't touch each other!

Yes, she would make it up to Sarah as soon as possible, apologize and do something nice for her to show Sarah that she still loved her and that she would always love her no matter what happened or how weird she acted.

“Any ideas, Pinky?” Cordelia asked.

Pinky just stared.

It was about nine thirty in the evening. Sarah's parents were in their bedroom. She was on her way back from the bathroom to her room when the sound of their voices caught her attention. She had never eavesdropped on her parents before, but now she stopped and held her breath.

“I've gone over the books again,” her father was saying. “What with Dave Johnson postponing his renovations until next year, maybe the one after that, cash flow's going to be a problem. Again.”

“Maybe we should talk to the bank about a bridge loan,” her mother said after a moment. “Just something short term. Or a personal line of credit.”

“I don't want to get into debt if we can help it, Cindy.”

“Of course not, neither do I. But there's got to be some way. . . .”

Sarah had heard enough. She hurried back to her room and carefully shut the door behind her.

Cordelia had been absolutely right when she had accused her of being self-centered. Having this baby and keeping him was the height of selfish behavior. Something had to be done, and she was the one to do it.

Sarah sat at her desk and opened her laptop. An hour later, she had learned a number of important things about the process of adoption. For one, she had learned that adoptions didn't have to be closed, as they used to be. They could be “open” in a variety of ways. And there were plenty of organizations, many of them right there in Maine, which would help a mother-to-be understand her options and make the decision that was right for her.

And the Web sites Sarah visited were so determinedly optimistic and reassuring. They said that choosing an adoption was not taking the easy way out. They said that choosing an adoption did not mean that you didn't love your baby and want the best for her. They said that by choosing an adoption, you were regaining possession of your life.

It wasn't too late to make arrangements. The baby wasn't due until late August and it was only just July now. . . .

Sarah closed her laptop and lay down on her bed. In spite of the encouraging words she had just read, adoption
wasn't
what she wanted, but the alternative—putting her family through years and years of financial hardship—just didn't seem fair. Somehow, she had to find the strength to make this sacrifice for her parents. And she had to hope that she wouldn't grow to resent them for having “forced” her to put her baby up for adoption. She had to hope that she wouldn't live the rest of her life with a nagging feeling of regret and remorse.

She didn't think that would be bearable. Living with that intensity of pain could very probably drive you to do something drastic, like take drugs or even kill yourself. And if you did manage to survive, if you did manage to get married someday and have another baby or two, would you be able to look at those children without remembering the child you had given up? Would the guilt be too heavy a burden? Would those other children, the ones you had kept, suffer as a result of your misery ? Would your husband be driven away by your inability to sustain a reasonable degree of happiness?

Sarah sighed deeply. Adoption was
not
right for her. She knew that. But she would have to
make
it right, for the sake of everyone else involved.

She turned onto her side and slid her hands under her cheek. She had never felt more like a kid than she did in that moment. A stupid kid who had done a stupid thing even though she had been taught better. Don't touch the stove because it could be hot and you might burn yourself. Don't cross the street against the light because you might get hit by a car.

Don't have sex carelessly because you could ruin your life and disappoint your family and alienate your best friend.

Forever.

Adelaide was at the Yorktide Library, wandering the section of books that had been acquired in the past five months. She often went to the library with a list of specific titles, but sometimes she just went in to browse. It was always exciting to stumble across a book that turned out to be a treasure. She had found one of her all-time favorite mystery series in this delightfully random way.

Adelaide's attention was caught by a slight commotion in the next aisle where a young woman with a baby strapped to her chest was trying to contain a toddler trying to push her own stroller. “Be careful, Lisa,” the woman said to the little girl, who subsequently plowed the stroller into the legs of a middle-aged man. The man laughed, the woman apologized, and the little girl shrieked.

Adelaide looked away. She found herself thinking of Cindy's two lost babies. She hadn't asked if they had been girls or boys or one of each. Sometimes she wondered how she would have felt if Cordelia had been a boy. She wondered if she would have felt as if she had cheated her first son of his birthright. It had the makings of a Greek or a Shakespearean tragedy, didn't it? The older son, the first born, abandoned at birth, returns to the mother who cast him off only to find a second son enjoying the rights and privileges of the heir. Chaos ensues.

Maybe she was being dramatic, entertaining this unhappy possibility that had
not
occurred. But you couldn't always prevent your mind from wandering in all sorts of directions, whether it was the middle of the night when you were wide-awake and feeling very, very alone in the world, which, of course, you were, everyone was, or in the New Books section of the local public library at four o'clock on a sunny afternoon.

“Adelaide, hello.”

Adelaide turned to see Maggie Collins smiling at her. Maggie had three children, all now grown, one married and living in Yorktide, one in the army, and another trying to make his way as an actor in Los Angeles. Her husband was recently retired from the gas company. Adelaide hadn't seen Maggie or her husband, Sam, in an age.

“Hi,” she said. “How are you, Maggie? You look well.”

Maggie smiled. “Can't complain. Sam's underfoot now, but I'm keeping him in line. So how is Cindy holding up?”

Adelaide bristled slightly. “She's fine,” she said. “Just fine.”

“Oh, good. It's just that it must be so hard for all of them right now. But the Bauers are a strong family.”

“Yes,” Adelaide said. “They are.”

“You know,” Maggie said, her voice pitched low, “my cousin's girl got pregnant last year. They live down in New Hampshire. Well, I have to say that my cousin and her husband did just what Cindy and Joe are doing. They rallied around their daughter, and even with ten-year-old twins at home, they're making things work with the baby. Now, I know not everyone can do that, but God bless those who can.”

Adelaide managed a smile. “Yes,” she said. “God bless them.”

Maggie Collins said farewell and took her pile of books to the checkout desk. Adelaide felt a buzz of anger in her head. She hadn't been so lucky, had she? Her parents hadn't rallied around her at all. They had made her feel like a failure and a freak. No one other than a very kind woman at the adoption agency had shown her the slightest bit of sympathy. No one had offered to make a quilt in honor of her baby.

And Adelaide thought, she wanted some sympathy. She
deserved
some sympathy, even all these years after the fact. True, Cindy had been heartbroken when she had learned about the adoption. And yes, Jack had always been there for her but . . .

For the first time in her life, Adelaide left the library without a book. She got into her car and turned it toward home. A thought had occurred to her. She had always assumed that she would tell Cordelia about her first child. Maybe now was the time.