Belonging (27 page)

Reaching over, he took her by the arm and helped her down from the table, then opened the door and ushered her out along the corridor to the reception room, where Madaket sat thumbing through a magazine. Today she was wearing a pale coral dress printed all over with tiny violets, and her long black hair was held back by a coral ribbon. When she saw the physician in his white coat and stethoscope approaching with Joanna, she jumped up, alarmed. Her black eyes flew to Joanna’s face.

“It’s all right,” Joanna hastened to assure her. “Madaket, this is Dr. Adams.”

“Gardner,” the doctor said, holding out his hand.

Madaket shook his hand. “Hello.”

“Joanna tells me you cook for her, and I’d like to talk to you about this a moment. Perhaps she’s told you: she’s got a bit of a problem with blood pressure. High blood pressure is common with twins, but it can lead to serious difficulties, and we want to prevent those. I just wanted to be sure you know you should keep salt away from your employer.”

“Yes. I’ve got her on a salt-free diet.”

“Good. Also, be sure she gets plenty of rest. Bed rest. Not lying flat, but well propped up on pillows.”

“I wonder—could I fix her some herbal teas?”

“What kind of herbs?”

“Bearberry leaves, from the moors, carefully picked and washed, then soaked in brandy, then brewed in boiling water. Sweetened. Bearberry is a natural diuretic.”

“I wouldn’t want it soaked in brandy or any alcohol. Not for a pregnant woman.”

“All right. No brandy.” Madaket thought a moment. “I’ll mix the bearberry leaves with dandelion and peppermint leaves.”

“Where did you hear about the properties of bearberry?” Gardner asked.

“It’s my grandmother’s recipe. Her grandmother’s actually.”

“Sounds like it couldn’t hurt and it could help. Along with other measures, such as watching salt intake and enforcing rest.” Gardner smiled at Madaket and, leaning toward her, confided in a low voice, “My feeling is that you’ll have to be a bit of a policeman with our patient.”

“Please!” Joanna protested. “You have no idea how much I want these babies.”

“Then take good care of yourself,” he admonished, reverting to his more formal self. “See if you can cut down on stress. Perhaps you could even try to finish only one book instead of two. Shorten your workday. Break it up into nap periods.” Gardner turned back to Madaket. “I’ll leave her in your hands.”

Joanna and Madaket were in the parking lot, just getting into the Jeep, when to their surprise a side door of the Nantucket Cottage Hospital opened and Gardner Adams came out, walking so briskly his white lab coat flew out behind him and his stethoscope flapped against his chest. He came to the passenger side and leaned in the window. The sunlight blazed through his curly hair.

“Joanna. You live out on Squam Road, right?”

“Right.”

“Look. I live out there, too. I think I’ll start coming by a few times a week to check your blood pressure. No, no”—he patted her arm—“I’m not trying to frighten you. I just want to keep an eye on it, and there’s no reason for you to make the trip into town, especially in this heat.” He looked across the Jeep at Madaket. “You’ll be there? You can answer the door?”

“I’m there between eight and five.”

“Good. See you later. Oh, and could you save me a bit of your tea? I’d like to taste it.”

“Sure.”

“Great. See you.” He streaked back toward the hospital.

“How unusual,” Joanna said when Gardner Adams had gone inside the building.

“For most doctors, I suppose, but I’ve heard he’s especially sympathetic,” Madaket replied. “The Coffins were talking about him. He’s supposed to be good, too.” She started the engine and steered the Jeep out of the lot, around the corner, and toward town along Pleasant Street. “So now you’re meeting Tory for lunch?”

“Right. At the Boarding House.”

“What time should I pick you up?”

Joanna looked at her watch. “Two o’clock. I’m meeting her at twelve-thirty, or I thought I was. We’ll be late with all the traffic!” she cried, as they joined a sluggish line of cars creeping toward Main Street. “What’s going on?”

“It’s overcast. Looks like rain. People can’t go to the beach.”

“I’ve heard for years that the whole atmosphere of the town changes between the winter and summer months, but this is the first time I’ve noticed it. God! Look at that!” Joanna shook her head as a father on a bike wavered out in front of a car, while the baby wobbled, fragile head helmetless, in the seat on the back of the bike.

“Our fire chief said in the newspaper that the tourists think Nantucket’s a theme park. Not real, so they’re free from all the laws of the real world. They think they’re immortal here,” Madaket told Joanna.

“How many tourists are there?”

“According to records, seven thousand people live here in January. Forty thousand in August.”

“It must drive the natives mad.”

“Well, yes. It also gives them a living. July and August are the busiest tourist months. Most of our businesses make more than half their yearly income then. I know the Coffins are always overwhelmed and exhausted by the time Labor Day comes. You should see the grocery stores. There are lines to get in the lines.”

“It’s worth it to be here,” Joanna told Madaket as they briefly double-parked on Federal Street. With effort she pried herself out of the Jeep. “See you at two!”

Crossing the street to the restaurant where Tory sat waiting at an umbrella table, Joanna, in a pale pink float which fell loosely about her as she glided along, felt large and helplessly spectacular. But no one turned to stare. Had her television fans forgotten her already? Perhaps her large-brimmed straw hat and sunglasses were disguise enough.

Tory looked fresh and summery. She wore loose white cotton and sipped a strawberry daiquiri. As Joanna slid into a chair across from her, Tory remarked, “I don’t think I’ve seen you in town before without that awful wig. You look great.”

“Thanks. I just hope I don’t run into anyone I know.”

“Why not?”

“Well, because of Carter.”

Tory stared at Joanna levelly. “Do you really think it matters now?”

Her words pierced like a splinter. Joanna waited until the waitress had taken their order, then demanded, “What do you mean?”

Tory’s eyes searched Joanna’s face, and finding something there that made her sad, leaned forward and put her hand on Joanna’s arm. “I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to be abrupt, but I’ve been meaning to talk to you about this … Joanna, I think that if
Carter wanted to find you, he would have found you by now. It’s been almost four months.”

Joanna looked silently at her friend. When she could steady her voice, she replied softly, “I suppose you’re right, Tory. I guess I just haven’t wanted to give up all hope.” She smoothed her napkin over her lap, working for self-control, but when she looked up at Tory, her eyes filled with tears for the second time that day. “Shit,” she whispered sharply, and stabbed her sunglasses back up her nose, closer to her eyes. “I’ve become an absolute faucet!”

Tory continued to stroke Joanna’s hand. “I’m so sorry, Joanna. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to be unkind.”

“I know you didn’t, Tory.”

“Tell me. How are the babies?”

That brought a smile back to Joanna’s face. “Gardner Adams said they’re perfect. My blood pressure’s on the high side, so I have to cut out salt.” As the waitress set their salads before them, she added, “Just think: I’m sitting here eating for three!”

“You look like it, too. You’re growing so fast I can never remember your due date.”

“Late October, early November. Which reminds me.” Joanna put down her fork and folded her hands in her lap. This was a momentous moment for her; she wanted it to be memorable. She was asking a favor, but she was also, in a way, honoring Tory. Clearing her throat, she said, “I’d like you to be my birth partner.”

With her fork, Tory pushed aside a cucumber and speared a bit of marinated avocado. “Sorry, hon, I can’t.”

Joanna was stunned. Tory had always praised birth as the ultimate moment in a woman’s life; Joanna assumed Tory would be thrilled to share it with her. “Why not?”

“You know Jeremy starts boarding school this fall. I promised his coach I’d be a soccer mom—help transport the kids to games and all that, and I’m going to be on the fund-raising committee for Vicki’s school. I’ll be up in Connecticut all fall.” She glanced at Joanna. “Are you okay?”

Joanna had to take off her sunglasses to wipe away tears. “I’m all right. Just surprised. I thought—I was counting on you—”

“Joanna, you know I’m happy for you. You know I’ll do anything I can to help. But you also know my family always comes first with me. Always has, always will.” She
leaned forward again to pat Joanna’s hand. “Once you have your children, you’ll understand.”

For the rest of the lunch, Joanna listened while Tory discussed the plans for the new sports facility at Vicki’s school. She had planned to do a number of errands after lunch, but when Madaket arrived with the Jeep at two, Joanna was so weary she told the young woman simply to drive back to the house. She needed to lie down and rest.

“Are you okay?” Madaket asked.

“Just tired. Very tired.”

“Put your seat back,” Madaket suggested.

“Good idea.” Joanna pressed the electric button and her seat slowly reclined. She lay back. That was better. She took deep breaths. The Jeep quietly rolled away from the town and along the winding road to Wauwinet. Shadows and sunlight trailed over her eyelids like scarves of indigo and gold chiffon, and with it memories drifted across her thoughts. Suddenly she remembered—no, it was more of a reliving—riding in the car with her mother at the wheel when she was small. The breath, perfume, gentle movements of another woman caused a kind of radiance from her which made Joanna feel protected and cherished, and also terribly female, and glad to be so. When she was young, riding like this as her mother traveled from one friend’s home to another’s, she was aware of a sense of excitement, an eager hope for all that lay ahead, an awareness of myriad possibilities and a desire to be prepared for them. That was something, Joanna realized, to be grateful for. If her mother had not been good at making a home, she had been wonderful at making journeys.

“We’re here,” Madaket announced, and she turned off the engine.

“I’m almost asleep,” Joanna yawned. “I think I’ll go on up to bed. Oh, no, I’d forgotten the Snows would still be here,” she moaned.

“They’ll be downstairs.”

“I know. But they’ll be making so much noise.”

“Well, they can change their plans, or take a break. Your health has first priority,” Madaket said.

Joanna’s study was finished now, one spacious, clean, light-filled room. Yesterday the Snows had carried all her equipment and her boxes of files out of the sunroom and up to her new study. Today they started work downstairs. Tory, Madaket, the Hoovers, had all advised her to have a room off the kitchen where the babies could be
as messy as they wanted. Joanna wanted the Snows to close up the door between the dining room and screened-in porch and to open up a door between the kitchen and the porch, then to turn the screened-in porch into an insulated room she could use year round as a playroom.

She’d hoped they’d do the noisiest of their work today, but as she and Madaket entered the house, they found it quiet, simmering with summer silence.

“I’m going on up to nap,” Joanna told Madaket.

“Have a good rest,” Madaket replied.

The heat had made her feet swell. Joanna kicked her espadrilles off and lethargically climbed the stairs in her bare feet.

As she approached the top step, Doug Snow came out of her bedroom and to the head of the stairs so quickly she almost stumbled backward.

“Doug!”

His face showed concern. “Are you okay? I thought you were going to be out all day.”

“I felt too hot and tired. I need to lie down.”

“Here. Let me help you.”

Before she could reply, Doug came down the three steps between them and put his arm around her, pulling her close to him. The scent and feel of his masculine presence overwhelmed her for a moment, making her feel even weaker. She sagged against him. His arm and chest were hard and warm. She was almost exactly as tall as he was. Against her plump, soft, female body, she sensed clearly the bone and sinew and muscles and gristle of his maleness as he enclosed her. The contrast excited her. Blood surged to her face.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to show you something in the study,” Doug said.

“All right.” It was all she could do to reply. An old sensual hunger was spreading through her, and it felt delicious.

Keeping his arm around her, he helped her up the last three stairs, across the wide landing, and into the study. There it was, her beautiful room, with its long work counters and gleaming computer, fax machine, printer, copier, file cabinets, telephone … and in front of her state-of-the-art typing chair, a footstool with walnut legs and base and a blue silk cushion.

“I took the liberty of making that for you. I’ve seen you working, and it seems to
me you’d be a little more comfortable with your feet up. It’d be good for you, too, I think.”

Tears rushed into her eyes.

“Doug, how thoughtful! Thank you!”

At her tears, his face darkened with embarrassment. Although he kept his arm around her, supporting her, he moved his body just slightly away, or contracted somehow, withdrawing into himself.

“It just seemed sensible,” he said gruffly.

She could almost feel his breath when he spoke. She could kiss his cheek, she thought. That would not be unreasonable. A kiss of gratitude. This man had thought of her. He had thought of her at night, when he was away from this house and his job. He cared about her comfort. Measuring, cutting sanding the wood, rubbing his hands over the legs to smooth them with oil, he had thought of her.

“My wife bought the silk cushion,” Doug said. “I asked her to choose it. I wouldn’t know what to get.”

She looked away, now embarrassed by her own thoughts, and at the footstool. “Please thank your wife for me. The cushion’s beautiful.”