East Hope (34 page)

There were no other cars in the parking lot of Hawthorne Beach. Caroline slammed her door shut and set off along the sand. The air stung with cold and her eyes watered in the wind. She drew her scarf more tightly around her neck. The ends snapped against her jacket. She remembered her one encounter with Will on this beach. She thought again of his arms around her, the way he held her by the fire. She had wanted that kiss. She should be thinking of Harry. East Hope had been his place.

Today the sky was filled with fat, blowing clouds pummeling against one another as far as she could see. Rob had probably toddled along this beach that summer long ago. He would have picked up shells and bits of driftwood, his small head bent to study the contents of his bucket. Such an easygoing boy. Always happy to play on his own, but well liked by other children. He would dig happily in the sand and in no time he'd have a posse of helpers joining in his play. It was no different in high school. He had started the Outing Club. His wilderness trips were popular with all his friends.

All of that was behind them.
Look, Rob. I'm going to have a baby. It's nothing I planned. It happened; that's all. I want you to be grown-up and accept that this is something I need now.
She walked faster. What did it matter what she needed? Children didn't consider that their parents might have needs too.
Such insanity,
she thought.
You bring a baby into the world. You feel an overwhelming, passionate attachment to a child, and that child grows to an adult, makes his own life, and leaves.

Caroline's boots slogged along in the wet sand. Eventually, short of breath, she stopped and stared out at the ocean. The waves crashed onto the beach at a distance. Low tide. Next week at this time she'd be back in Washington, back in the house where all her old memories were still alive. The wind whipped at her ears. She should have put on a hat.

She turned to walk back to her car. There was still no one on the beach, and she thought again of Will, and pushed aside the half hope that he would appear. Just before she reached the parking lot she looked back at the water once more. Caroline brought her hands up to cover her ears and momentarily muffled the roar of the waves.

A
s Caroline moved through the house in Chevy Chase, sort ing clothes, packing boxes, adding to the growing piles in the garage, the memories of all the years in this house tumbled unchecked into her mind, unstoppable. The corner in the living room where they put up the Christmas tree each year, the dining room where they had had so many happy family celebrations, the kitchen table where Harry had helped Rob with school projects—the flour-salt-and-water relief map of the state of Maryland, Harry wishing it had been someplace easier, one of the square states with straight lines.

Now it was November and the leaves of the old maples around the house had fallen. The trees, planted before the days of air-conditioning, shaded the house in summer, but by November the sun shone brightly through the windows. Caroline had always loved the way the fall sunlight poured into her house. Once the heat of summer passed, the sky became a more crisp blue, though not quite as vivid as the sky in Maine. She thought of Will, how he had put his arms around her.
Stop,
she told herself. It was wrong to think of him, especially today, the first anniversary of Harry's death.

Harry had died on a beautiful day like this. Caroline looked out at her garden and thought of the hours she had spent there. Building a garden was a way of controlling nature, creating order, making your imprint upon the earth. Yet so much was out of your control. The lilac, planted by her father in memory of Grace, was testament to that.

The house closing was at the end of the week. Packing up the house was a huge job. Every muscle in Caroline's body hurt, and she ached in ways she had not thought possible. Her huge belly felt like lead. A lawn crew was coming to rake the yard one final time. The leaves would be swept away, the furniture put into storage, in the same way that her life with her family in this house would be totally erased, nothing left but the memories. For a long time to come, Caroline would be able to close her eyes and picture this garden. What would she remember of Harry?

And Rob? By selling this house she was erasing his memories too. How much of this house, the things in it, the times they shared here as a family, would he be able to recall? Would he live in a house like this one day, look out at a yard, and remember soccer games with Jim, sitting around with his friends eating pizza, his father helping him with homework? Being in their old house was bringing back all the memories of both the good times and the bad.

Caroline turned away from the window and rested for a moment in the chair in her bedroom. She was thankful Rob would be here soon and she could finally tell him everything. Each time she spoke to him by phone after he went back to school, she had always found an excuse to hold back: He had been rushed, overtired, busy with midterms; or other times he had been especially happy: a good grade on a paper, Melanie coming to see him unexpectedly, being accepted into a seminar with a favorite professor. She realized now that what would have been merely an unhappy and difficult discussion had ballooned with the passage of time.

She got up and looked at a box of mementos on the bed that she had set aside for Rob. She studied the framed photograph of Rob and Harry on a rafting trip in Montana, taken the summer Rob was twelve. Rob leaned into his father, whose arm draped around his young son's skinny shoulders. Compared to Rob, grinning at his side, Harry looked more serious, as if he were already aware that this young boy was on the cusp of becoming an independent young man. Harry had lived for those wilderness trips with his son.

Caroline put Harry's favorite fleece jacket in the box. She had found it while cleaning out the front hall closet. She also added the small clock that Harry always kept on his dresser. Harry once told Rob, six or seven at the time, that the frame of the clock was covered in pigskin. “You mean the skin of a pig?” Rob had asked, cocking his head in wonder. The clock had belonged to Harry's grandfather. Earlier she had put away Harry's gold cuff links, and the pocket watch that had belonged to his great-grandfather, planning to give them to Rob on his twenty-first birthday.

She looked again at the fishing vest that she had placed on top of the box. Harry's fishing equipment was in the garage, packed and ready to go to East Hope in her car. The fishing vest was so like Harry, sensible and well made of a durable beige cotton fabric, softened from use. It was practical; each pocket and strap served a purpose. Every time Harry came home from a fishing trip, he carefully removed everything from the pockets and then folded it neatly and put it on the shelf to await the next trip. How could such a thoughtful, sensible man make such a dreadful decision with their investments? She shoved down the top of the box.

The phone rang. She drew in her breath, startled. Very few people knew she was in town. Pete had called periodically to check on her and still kept insisting that he wanted to help her financially. He was going to be on the West Coast during the time she would be in Washington. Vivien was coming to help with some final packing in the morning. Another ring. She picked up.

“You okay, Mom?”

Rob's voice lifted her spirits immediately. “Oh, sweetie, I've been thinking of you,” she said.

“You called me, Mom. This day last year.” Rob's voice broke.

“It's not easy, is it?” Caroline was filled with guilt. It was she who should be checking on him. “It's been a hard day so far,” she said, looking at the box of Harry's things.

“Yeah,” Rob said.

“Are you okay, honey?” He said nothing. She tried to think clearly, feeling a creeping sense of dread. Maybe she should tell him now. Certainly not now. Better in person, as she had planned.

“Remember the day you called?” he asked.

She nodded. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks.

“I almost missed the call,” he said. “I was leaving for a test.” She could hear him crying softly on the phone. “You told me Dad had a heart attack. And it was serious.”

Caroline nodded, unable to speak.

“You never said he was dead. But I knew.”

That morning, a year ago, Pete had called her from the office. He told her he would take her to the hospital to be with Harry and that he would drive up to Pennsylvania to get Rob from college. She had forgotten how Pete had helped. Pete had been the one to tell Rob that his father had died.

“You're so good to call,” she said.

“It's okay, Mom. I just wanted to talk. Sorry I've been so shitty about selling the house.”

“I'm sad to leave it too.” Caroline stood and looked down at the garden. The wind had picked up and the leaves blew up and around Grace's bench. She swallowed and hated herself once again for not having the courage to tell him the truth.

“I'll see you Friday,” he said.

Her dread sharpened. “You'll be okay, then?”

“I love you, Mom.”

Vivien arrived the next morning. “It may be a little rough at first,” she said. “When you explain, I'm sure he'll understand.”

Caroline sealed another box of china with brown sticky tape. She had opted to pack as much as she could herself to keep down the cost of the move. She placed another wine goblet on the stack of beige paper in front of her, brought up one side of paper, then the other, and smoothly rolled the glass to the end of the sheet before adding it to an empty carton.

“He's so important to me. He's lost his dad. I don't want him to think he's lost me.” Caroline drew her hand across and then under her belly. The baby had been moving and kicking vigorously for the past few days. She was anxious to get through this move. Dr. Carney was not keen on her driving all the way to Washington and back again.

“Just tell him that.”

“I will, though sometimes the simplest things are the hardest.”

Vivien reached for an empty box. “Oh, I have some news that might cheer you up.”

“About my cookbook idea?”

“I've got the name of an agent who might be interested. She specializes in cookbooks. She'd like to see your proposal.”

“That's really good news.”

Vivien put the packing box aside and rummaged in her handbag. “Here's her name and contact information.” She handed Caroline a sheet of paper. “You might want to include a sample chapter with some recipes too.”

“But that's wonderful. I can't believe it. Vivien, you're such a good friend.”

“Don't get excited yet. If she likes your proposal and decides to represent you, she still has to sell it to a publishing company.”

“I'll work on it as soon as I get to Maine.” She hoped she could do a good job. Not only did she want to get an advance for the project, she needed the work, something to keep her busy in the long months ahead.

“You're a fine writer,” Vivien reassured her friend, as if privy to her thoughts. “You can do this. I know you can.” Vivien picked up a flat carton. “Let me give you a hand with this.”

They worked together, stopping only for a quick lunch.

Before Vivien left at the end of the afternoon, Caroline asked her to help her carry Grace's bench from the garden to her car. Caroline had decided it was the one thing she didn't want to put into storage. The bench would fit perfectly alongside Lila's house by the herb garden. It would be a lovely place to sit, protected there from the wind.

“Let's each take an end,” Vivien said.

Caroline's hair blew into her face as she lifted. The teak bench was heavy and clumps of dirt stuck to each foot. They carried it awkwardly to the car. When Caroline glanced back at the tangle of plants, a few still green and not yet felled by the early frosts, she started to cry. The bench could go with her but the lilac, Grace's lilac, had to stay.

“It's okay, old friend,” Vivien said, setting down her end. “Come on now. Have a good cry. That's just what you need.”