East Hope (24 page)

Darcy passed the bowl of chicken salad to Caroline. “You're pretty quiet tonight,” she said.

“Your sister's had a long drive,” their mother said. She pushed a platter of tomato aspic across the table to Darcy.

“Mom, Caroline's not an invalid,” she said while scooping a wobbly red mass onto her plate. “How's Rob liking his job at the camp?”

“He's having fun.”

“I'm amazed you let him go.”

“Why wouldn't I let him go?” Caroline asked, trying to mask her annoyance.

“You had a hard time when he left for college. You couldn't stop talking about how you missed him.”

“Don't you miss your kids?”

“Caroline, what's your problem tonight?”

“Sorry, I didn't mean to snap.”

Darcy shrugged and toyed with the food on her plate. She studied Caroline. “You're looking kind of pale. Are you feeling all right?”

“I'm fine,” she insisted. She glanced at her mother.

“Tell Darcy about the old cookbooks you've been collecting,” Peg said, an obvious ploy to change the tone of the conversation.

Caroline talked about the books and later asked Darcy about her own children. Darcy appeared more than happy to fill her in on the successful pursuits of her precious offspring. Peg never served dessert during the week, and after dinner they drank weak decaffeinated coffee in the kitchen while loading the dishwasher. As soon as they were finished Caroline pleaded exhaustion and went up to bed.

The next morning Caroline's mother hugged her again and said she wished Caroline would reconsider having the baby in East Hope. Caroline didn't commit to any specific plan other than to say that she would be in Connecticut for Thanksgiving with Rob. She loaded the car and set off for Washington. Already the thermometer beside her mother's back door registered ninety-one degrees.

August in Washington was the worst month of the year. Weeks of hot, humid weather squeezed the life out of everything. The leaves curled in listless discontent; planters of impatiens, though watered at daybreak, hung limp from the effort to stay alive; even geraniums, the hardiest of flowers, became dust-clogged and anemic. Waves of heat rose from the asphalt, and the buildings baked in the relentless sun. The heat persisted well into the night. The sky, bleached white and cloudless, locked the polluted air in like a prison.

Caroline arrived in Chevy Chase in the middle of just such an afternoon. She'd had a terrible time staying awake on the last part of her trip along the Baltimore-Washington Parkway, but as she maneuvered through the four lanes of traffic on the beltway, her adrenaline kicked in. She pulled into her driveway and got out of the car. The Volvo's air conditioner was not the strongest, and her skirt remained stuck to the back of her legs. She pulled it away and stared at her house. Fortunately, the lawn had been mowed, but clumps of weeds had shot up in the shrubbery on either side of the door. Maybe it was the oppressive heat, all the hours in the car, the strain of her situation, but standing here now looking at her front door, Caroline felt terribly old. A dense weight seemed to settle on her shoulders, and she worried that she might not be able to move.

Stop it,
she told herself.
Get inside. Rob arrives this weekend.
Rob and Melanie, his girlfriend. She pulled her keys from her pocket and unlocked the door. It was swollen from the humidity, and she had to shove it hard with her knee to make it budge. After a final push it gave way. A pile of mail littered the hall floor. The mail was no longer being forwarded in August. A sea of catalogs, flyers, and bills lay at her feet. She bent down, gathered an armful, and carried it to the dining room table. After scooping up the rest of the mail, she lowered the thermostat that had been left at eighty degrees to ward off the humidity, and went to the kitchen for a glass of water. The silent, stale house seemed strangely alien to her.

She drank thirstily and filled the glass a second time. Somewhat revived, she went out to her car, eager to unpack and get ready for Rob, but while coming in from the garage, she noticed an envelope on the floor that had slipped partly under the chest by the door. It looked like an official letter, not junk mail, something from Century Mortgage, addressed to her.

At nine thirty the next morning Caroline sat perched on the edge of the leather sofa in Pete's office and shivered. The air-conditioning made her think of a meat locker. She wore a pale green linen shift, and her bare arms were covered with goose bumps. Despite the chilly air, her palms had started to sweat. She needed to pee, but Pete's assistant, someone new whom she'd never met, had been annoyed with her when she had shown up first thing that morning without an appointment. The new assistant had claimed Pete was in a meeting, and that she would have to wait. Caroline didn't want to be in the ladies' room when he returned.

“You've come back,” Pete said. He walked behind his desk and sat. In a dark suit and brilliant white shirt, he looked cool and immaculate. “I couldn't believe you'd take off for Maine without even talking to me.”

“I'm sorry,” she began. “I'm not sure I understand this.” She put the letter on his desk and went back to the sofa, grateful for the space between them.

He read the letter and documents. He drew his brows together, then shrugged and let the papers fall to the desk. “It's a balloon payment.”

“I owe a hundred and fifty thousand dollars on November first?”

“It appears that Harry took out a second mortgage when the Avistar deal started to look bad.” His voice no longer sounded angry. “This isn't good, Red.”

“Oh, God,” she said, lowering her head. She thought she'd caught everything. How had this slipped through? “I don't remember signing anything. We owned the house jointly, and Harry would—”

“Did you always know what you were signing?” Pete asked. “Tax forms? Proxies?”

“Not always,” she whispered. She couldn't look at him.

“You signed it.” Pete shoved the papers to her across the desk. “Your signature is right here.”

She picked up the sheets and tried to read through a blur of tears. She drew in a gulp of air and forced her eyes to focus. “I guess I did.” What had Harry said to her? She had no recollection. Was it one morning as he was dashing out the door? “Here, Caro, sign this. Yeah, this is a different company. We'll get a better rate.” A hurried signature—why ask questions? Harry took care of all the money. He would know best.

“I'm going to have to sell the house,” she said.

“I'm afraid that's the only solution,” Pete said, his voice kinder. He came over and sat beside her on the sofa and handed her his handkerchief.

Caroline drew the white cloth across her eyes and under her nose.

“You're cold.” Pete stroked the skin of her forearm. His touch was gentle and slow. “I've missed you this summer. I know what happened between us was sudden. But, Red, it did happen.” His touch grew firmer.

“It was a mistake,” she said, sliding away.

He didn't try to touch her again, but cocked his head and watched her, as if trying to understand something. “What's the matter, Red? I can help you with the house. It's a seller's market. You won't have any trouble.” He reached for her chin and turned her face toward his. “Look at me.” Pete's eyes had softened, and his lips remained parted as if he were about to speak. He drew his hand along her cheek to her neck.

Caroline stood as if stung. “Don't touch me anymore.” She started to cry again.

Pete looked up at her. “Caroline, I don't want to hurt you. You've suffered enough. We do need to talk about what happened.”

“Nothing happened.” She blinked back her tears and blew her nose. “Or it shouldn't have happened.”

“Don't say that.” He stood.

His face had lost the harsh expression of when he'd first come in. She noticed the fine lines around his eyes, his dark brows lifted in expectation. The thought of telling him about the baby was unbearable. This was controversy enough.

He turned away from her and held his hands together as if trying to figure out how to proceed. It wasn't like him to be at a loss for words. The office fell silent except for the sound of the air-conditioning system that roared relentlessly. “I admire what you're doing—taking charge, going to Maine,” he said. “I haven't stopped thinking about you—about us.”

“No,” she said. “Don't say that.”

“Red, I was glad to help you with Harry's estate. He was my best friend, but I realized that even though it was a terrible time for you, it gave me a chance to really know you. Last winter I felt I was getting close to you.”

“Please,” Caroline said. “Pete, I don't have those kind of feelings for you.”

“But it's the truth.” He moved toward her.

That word again. Caroline remembered her mother and what she had said. “There's something you have to know.” She raised her hand. “You've got to hear this.” By now she no longer felt cold. She would never have the courage if she waited. “I'm pregnant. You're the father.”

He stared for a moment, his features blank of all expression. A moment later he shook his head as if this were the last thing on earth he had ever expected to hear. He went to the sofa and sat like a man who'd been wounded, unable to support his own weight.

“That one night?”

She nodded.

Pete bent his head into his palms. “Jesus, Red,” he said. He blew out through his teeth and leaned back.

Caroline picked up her handbag. She hugged her arms across her chest. The memory of their night together came back. Feelings of regret and sorrow flooded through her. It was too late. The welling of sadness in her throat didn't matter. “I can't talk about it now,” she said. Her voice grew stronger. “I'm going back to Maine soon. No one around here will know it's yours.”

“You're keeping the baby?” He stared at her, looking suddenly older, his eyes deep within their sockets.

“I don't want anything from you. I'm doing this for me. This is something I want.”

Pete remained silent. She imagined him thinking of their night together. Or was he thinking of Marjorie? Their marriage? Perhaps he was thinking of Harry, his friend? Three red lights on his telephone blinked, and then a fourth came to life. She moved toward the door. He started to get up. “No,” she said. She motioned for him to stay where he was and said quietly, “I want nothing from you.” She put her hand on the door handle; it was icy cold.

“Caroline,” he said, “please don't say that.”

“I want nothing from you,” she said again, “but I felt you should know.” She opened the door to leave, and quickly tried to draw her face into some form of composure. His assistant was typing rapidly on her computer. The shiny pink nails flew across the keys.

“Red,” she heard him call after her before the door clicked shut.

C
aroline sat with Rob and Melanie at the wrought-iron table on the patio in the garden. They had arrived together and had been with her in Chevy Chase for a week. It was now the weekend. There had been a thunderstorm in the late afternoon, and water still dripped from the gutter by the back door. The evening was unexpectedly cooler. When Melanie had offered to set the table for dinner, Caroline suggested that they eat outside to take advantage of the pleasant evening. The earth, wet from the heavy rain, smelled fertile. Long days of heat coupled with a good amount of rain that summer had made the garden especially lush, junglelike in its fullness.

“We need to go soon, Mom.” Rob sat across the table from Caroline. It was dark in the garden, but the glow of the kitchen lights illuminated Rob's face. He looked tanned and healthy. Caroline thought he had grown taller over the summer.