East Hope (28 page)

Several afternoons later Will stepped outside Taunton's to bring in his flag. The weather had remained clear, though unusually cool for the final days of August. He decided to close the store early and walk down to his beach. Mary Beth was arriving on Saturday. He hoped the good weather would hold. He grabbed a fleece jacket and turned to lock the door.

“Hello,” a female voice called out.

Will turned and saw Caroline. He hadn't heard anyone approach. A momentary delight quickly clouded to confusion when he remembered their last meeting, the book trip to Acadia in July. She had made it clear that she didn't want to be friends when she had turned down his invitation to dinner. That hardly mattered now. Things had changed with Mary Beth.

“You're closing up?” she asked. There was something woebegone in her manner, but her gaze was steady, one eye blue, the other decidedly green. It made him pause and consider whether her face was in some way out of balance.

“I'm closing a little earlier now. Not as many people coming through.” He stepped down to her level and turned back quickly. “If there's something you want I'll—”

“No. I was just out walking. I drove back from Washington yesterday. God. More than thirteen hours.” She drew one hand to her neck and rubbed. “I'm not sure I'll ever recover.” She wore a brown corduroy jacket that didn't suit her. Her neck appeared very white and too thin.

“I was going to walk down to my beach.” He glanced up at the sky. “It's getting dark early.”

“May I come along? I remember your telling me how you discovered it when you first moved here.” She fell into step beside him.

He could hardly tell her not to come. “I haven't seen your lights for a while. I thought maybe you were gone for good.”

“I'm back now.” Caroline didn't explain further, but thrust her hands into the pockets of her coat and followed him along the narrow path through the field behind the store. The tall grass, heavy and golden, brushed against their legs. They reached the woods. For a while neither of them spoke. The damp forest floor smelled of pine, pungent and pleasantly sharp. The gray-green mosses stood out against the dark earth.

Will had almost forgotten she was behind him. She walked soundlessly. “We're nearly there,” he said over his shoulder.

A few minutes later they emerged onto the pebble beach at the neck of the bay. It was small, twenty or thirty yards wide, cradled in between two large rock formations. The water, crystal clear and smooth like a lake, lapped gently at the shore. Will led Caroline to a flat rock where they could sit and look out across the bay and to the ocean beyond.

“This is a hidden treasure,” she said, and sat down with one leg outstretched and the other bent. “My God, the light.” She leaned forward, hugging her knee.

“Nice, isn't it?” He sat beside her and began to feel more at ease.

“First time I've been warm today.”

“You haven't turned the heat on?”

“Vern's coming tomorrow to help me with the boiler.”

He adjusted his position on the rock, moving slightly away from her. Her hair, in the sunlight, was not only red but streaked with gold, lighter than he remembered. She wore it pulled back in a barrette. One loose piece blew across her cheek. Again he thought of her old-fashioned demeanor. She was like a woman in a Winslow Homer painting, a simple New England woman, her thoughts impenetrable, her eyes fixed on the sapphire ocean in the distance. He tried to think of something else to say. Why, for God's sake, had she presented herself at the store? The last time she as much as told him to get lost. The memory of her bare freckled legs when they had their picnic shot into his mind.

“Do you miss not going back to school?” She turned toward him and shielded her eyes against the sun. “Teaching, I mean.”

He shrugged. “I might do some tutoring.” He shifted his position on the rock. “There's an after-school program at the library. Edna is looking for volunteers. She's been so helpful to me all summer. I told her I'd work with one of the students.”

“What about your own writing?”

“I realized I enjoy research more, and writing essays.”

“I see.”

“I've given up on the novel. It was really my wife's idea. I guess because I read them all the time and taught literature, she thought I could write one.”

“How is she?”

“My wife?”

“You told me you were separated.”

“We have been.” He didn't want to explain any more. How could he explain what he didn't understand himself? “The summer's gone quickly,” he said, “and the store has kept me plenty busy.”

“I'm glad to hear that.”

The beach pebbles made a gentle rolling sound that became more noticeable as they were pulled out with the tide. Will fingered the stones beside him, all worn smooth from the endless movement of water. “George Taunton isn't doing well,” he said. “It's sad. The family has decided to sell the place.”

“So you'd have to leave?” She appeared concerned as she asked.

“I've been thinking about buying it. It would be a good seasonal business.”

“I can see you doing that.”

“You can?” He smiled at her.

She nodded. Then her face grew serious again. She bit her lower lip. “Will?”

“Yes?”

“There's something I have to tell you.”

She looked directly at him, and the openness of her expression made him turn away, as if her gaze could in some way hurt him, the way if you stared at the sun too long it could blind you. He focused on the horizon.

“I'm going to have a baby.”

For a while he sat completely still and tried to comprehend this amazing statement. He turned back to her. “But I thought—”

“It's not my husband's child. Last spring—”

“You don't have to tell me any of this,” he interrupted. Why was this news making him angry? He could feel himself clenching his teeth. The rock under him felt hard, and the sun was almost gone from their piece of beach. He zipped his jacket to the neck.

“Please listen. I want to tell you the truth. It's why I felt awkward about seeing you again after our trip to Acadia in July. Going out to dinner and all that. Oh, God. This is crazy. I loved that day. It was such an escape. For a while, anyway, I totally forgot what I'd done.” She shifted her position on the rock. “It happened in May. There was a dinner party, hosted by my husband's partner and his wife. Things sort of fell apart at the end of the evening. We had lots of wine. There was this bizarre thunderstorm. He drove me home.”

“Caroline, you don't need to tell me this.”

“I'm sorry. Please.” She reached over and touched him lightly on the sleeve. Just as suddenly, she withdrew her hand. “I was lonely. Confused about so many things. We slept together. It was a terrible mistake. Now you know what happened. At first I didn't know what to do. Having a baby at this time in my life doesn't make any sense. I mean, picture it.” Here her tone of voice shifted. “Grieving widow, pillar of the community, member of the garden club, mother of a nineteen-year-old son.” More quietly she said, “Money has also been a problem. I can't really afford another child. Anyway, I've always been responsible, done what was expected of me. For a while I just couldn't make up my mind what to do about the baby. Then I knew.” She pushed strands of her hair behind her ear. “I couldn't decide to end the pregnancy, and by not deciding, I had of course made the decision.” She drew her other knee up and slowly rubbed her temples with her fingers. “You see, I lost a baby. A daughter. Fifteen years ago. I don't want to lose another child.”

Her entire body looked sad, her eyes empty of color, her lips pale and pressed together, her shoulders sloped. Seeing her like this made him feel oddly protective of her.

“I needed to tell you,” she said. “I don't want you to think that I didn't like you. My life is so complicated. I didn't want to drag you into all that.”

“I see.” From the corner of his eye he watched her awkwardly push forward onto her feet and press one hand into the rock as she stood. He got up as well. After this declaration, it was as if some layer of herself had been peeled away, worn smooth like the pebbles. “When?” He looked quickly at her belly, but could see no noticeable swelling under her coat.

“Not until February.”

The sky was slowly darkening, and Will's energy drained out of him like the last vestiges of the sunlight. “What will you do?” he asked.

“Stay here. For now anyway.” She stood beside him, looking out at the water. Soon the rich blue would become a nighttime black. An awkward silence grew between them. She shrugged and forced a smile. “I have one idea, actually. I think I mentioned the old New England recipes I've discovered. Who knows, maybe some kind of book.”

“A book?” He couldn't imagine who would be interested in a book of old recipes.

“Remember I told you about the books in Lila's house? Some of them might be worth something.”

“I'd be happy to look at them if you decide you want to sell any,” he said, glad to move to this safer topic. Larger waves had begun to slap into the rocks. “Maybe we'd better go back.”

Caroline nodded and walked with Will along the path through the darkening woods. They entered a clearing under the tall pines. Just as the path narrowed and turned sharply to the left, her foot caught the edge of a root and she pitched forward. Will reached out to break her fall and instinctively moved to take her in his arms to keep her from hitting her head on a nearby branch. She staggered briefly and leaned into him, her hair touching his face.

“Are you okay?” He quickly withdrew his arms. She stepped away, having regained her balance.

“I'm fine.” She brushed distractedly at her sleeve.

Her hair had been unexpectedly soft. “It's hard to see in these woods after sunset,” he said.

“I'll be more careful.” A few minutes later the path opened and they crossed the field behind the store. When she reached the building she made a hurried apology. “I hope we can still be friends.”

“Of course,” he said, still pondering all that she had told him.

“Good friends, then.” She cocked her head and smiled, the smile he remembered her giving him the afternoon of their picnic. She turned away and started down the road toward the village.

That night after supper Will sat in his chair reading. After an hour or so he set his book on the table beside him. The book was one he'd found in the box from last week's house sale, a yellowed paperback copy of
Summer,
a lesser-known novel by Edith Wharton. In Wharton's story a young woman's sexual awakening drew her into an affair with a young man of a higher social standing who would never marry her. The young girl became pregnant. At the end of the novel she accepted marriage to a cold, older man, her legal guardian, the price she paid for her summer of passion. Was this Caroline's story? A moment of passion with her husband's friend? He glanced at the book on the table next to him and stretched out his legs, feeling restless.

It was only eight thirty. Too early to crawl into his solitary bed. He got up and grabbed his jacket and car keys. A beer out at Crosby's was better than another evening alone.

“Kind of fitting, isn't it?” Mary Beth said.

“Fitting?” Will asked. He dipped a second lobster claw into the dish of melted butter. She had arrived late that afternoon bearing a bag of lobsters, a loaf of French bread, and two bottles of white wine. Fortunately Will had a pot large enough to boil the creatures, still alive and kicking. He had planned to take Mary Beth out, but having food to prepare had given them both something to do and had made their first encounter easier. Instead of kissing or not kissing, they had carried bags, handled the food, opened wine. He showed her around the store. She had been admiring, even respectful, asking questions about the business.