East Hope (41 page)

She nodded, remembering she'd been relieved not to have to see him then.

“An old friend from business school has taken over a small brokerage firm in San Francisco. I've been helping him, and he wants to have me come out as a partner.”

Caroline tried to focus while Pete filled her in on his plans. “All the way across the country,” she said, realizing that he would indeed be far away.

“It's a little risky, actually, but I'm loving it. I'm on the way there now.”

“I see.” She had never considered this possibility. Some part of her had counted on his being in Washington, ready to advise her. It was as if a bridge were being closed off. Here she had been worrying about his forcing her to come back home, while he had every intention of going farther away than ever. To her surprise, she felt a wave of regret.

Pete finished his soup and rested the spoon on his plate. “Last summer you asked me not to”—he paused—“intervene.” He looked at her belly and put a hand out toward her, resting it tentatively on the table. “I'll respect your wishes. I promise. But I want you to know that I'll always be there for you. Whatever happens. I know you don't want me in your baby's life, not now anyway. But there may come a day . . .” His voice faltered. “There may be a time when he or she will want a father, will want to know who their father is.” Caroline saw his expression dim.

“Yes,” she said. “I've thought about that, but I didn't want to force us into some kind of family. It wouldn't be fair to any of us.”

Pete nodded. Again, just the ticking of the clock. Caroline thought of Rob. She was forcing her son into a new family, a family he never chose to have, and because of this he refused to come home. This entire life that she was trying to construct now seemed like a terrible joke. A mother with her son and a baby, bonding together, was nothing but a romantic notion—worse, a sham. She reached now for Pete's hand.

A memory of her kitchen table in Chevy Chase—quick, like a snapshot—flashed before her: Harry seated next to her, Rob a little boy in a booster chair, platters of food before them. Suppertime, a winter evening, Harry's tie loosened, Rob's bib spattered with spills, the smell of roast chicken, the clanging of the hall radiator. Almost as quickly as she pictured that scene it vanished, spinning out of her vision as if in outer space, beyond the reach of gravity.

Pete gripped her hand firmly, then cleared his throat. His eyes met hers. “Caroline, I want you to promise that you'll stay in contact with me. I won't bother you or the child. Besides, I wasn't the greatest dad.” He leaned toward her. The old wicker chair squeaked under his weight. “Always working, not there for my kids as much as I should have been.”

“You mustn't say that,” she said. “You always did your best.” She reached out and placed her other hand on top of his, wanting somehow to comfort him.

They sat quietly for a few minutes. The enormity of what was ahead seemed to impose a shared weight upon them. Pete squeezed her hands briefly, got up, and fetched the briefcase that he had brought in earlier from the car. “Here's where I'll be.” He placed a sheet of paper with an address and a series of phone numbers on the table in front of her. “You'll let me know about the birth?”

“I will.” She stood and turned to face him, still overwhelmed and not knowing what to say. She now understood the expression
change of heart
. “I want to thank you for this.” Her voice faltered. “For everything, for understanding.”

He smiled at her. “You know I care about you.”

Caroline believed him. She met his gaze and swallowed back tears. “I just wish Rob could understand.”

“Does he know everything?”

“He does now. I don't think he'll ever forgive me.” She drew her hands to her belly.

“I'll call him. I owe him that.” He stood straighter.

“You will?”

“Of course. We need to give him time. He'll come to understand.”

Pete placed his hands on her shoulders. “I have a flight out of Bangor early this evening, so I'll be on my way.” He held her shoulders intently, as if trying to reassure her, as if to support her and keep her in one piece. “Whenever you want me, please call. Promise?”

Caroline couldn't speak. She nodded, not wanting him to leave. They shared a history.

He touched her cheek and looked at her as if he didn't want to forget this moment.

“Wait,” she said. She reached for his right hand and placed it on her belly, large and taut. “It's moving.” He said nothing for a moment. His hand was warm and firm. She felt his face close to hers and then his lips in her hair.

“My God,” he whispered. “It's always a miracle.” He withdrew his hand, but lingered close to her, as if needing time to gather himself. Then he stepped away, took his coat and briefcase, and went out the back door. The sun had gone under a bank of clouds. The child kicked again and then stopped.

“So, what do you think?” Crystal watched Will's face. She twirled a strand of her pale hair between her fingers. Some days she looked like a child, gawky and uncertain, still a girl, and on others Will caught glimpses of the young woman she would become, confident and ready to tackle the world, the bigger world beyond East Hope.

“You nailed it,” Will said, tapping the pages on the table in front of him. “You've really got it right.” She had brought him the final draft of her essay. It was good, really good.

“Right enough to get the money?”

“If it were me, you'd get the award today,” Will said. “I don't know how these things work, but it's a fine essay regardless of what it's for. The writing is wonderful. So clear. Crystal clear,” he joked.

“You're bad, Mr. Harmon.” She shook her head and gave him the slightly crooked smile that she had shown him more and more often that fall.

They talked awhile longer. Crystal's English teacher had asked Will to help Crystal with some creative writing that was not included in the regular curriculum. He asked her how the short story she was working on was coming. She told him she would spend more time on it now that her essay was done. It was after five, and Will knew that Edna would be waiting to close the library. They put on their coats and headed to the front of the building. Edna was deep in conversation with Janet Wiseman, the guidance counselor, who was standing next to her at the front desk. Will wondered briefly if Janet would assign him more students. Until he found a teaching job, he would have plenty of time for tutoring. Will and Crystal passed the desk and headed to the front door. He zipped his jacket and tightened his grip on his briefcase.

“My dad's here,” she said, looking through the glass pane.

A brown pickup truck idled in front of the building. Crystal turned back to Will. “I'll bring you my story next week,” she said, her eyes bright with excitement. The successful essay seemed to spur her on; she was ready to tackle further challenges.

“Great,” Will said. He reached to push open the door for her as she stopped and turned back.

“Mr. Harmon, thanks for all the help on the essay.” She smiled up at him, her gaze earnest and steady. “I never could have done it without you.” She put one arm around him and leaned into him, offering a fast hug.

“You're welcome.” He stepped away from her and awkwardly reached again for the door. As he pushed it open he heard Janet Wiseman's voice behind them.

“Could I see you a moment, Crystal?”

She turned to go back and Will stepped outside. He waved to Crystal's father and walked to his car. Crystal's burst of affection had surprised him. A moment later he worried briefly that Edna or the guidance counselor might have seen and gotten the wrong idea.

There was no wind that evening, but the air was seriously cold. He was glad he'd ordered a cord of wood from a friend of Vern's. He'd started using the wood stove to help heat his apartment above the store. How had old Mr. Taunton managed in the drafty old building? When the wind came up the windows rattled, as if the building might not be able to withstand another winter. Will started his car and headed toward the village.

The streets were quiet. He stopped for gas at the Quik Mart and bought a six-pack of beer. Karen's Café was open, but rather than stay there and eat early, he picked up a quart of chowder to heat up later. He felt the need to get home.

Driving through the darkness, he couldn't shake the image of the man waiting for Caroline in her driveway a few days before. The guy had been good-looking in a rich, smooth way in that fancy coat. City clothes, Will thought, reminding him of Drew and Mary Beth. The man was certainly nobody local. His kissing Caroline with such authority had irritated him. When he had pulled out of her driveway Will had looked in his rearview mirror and seen the guy put his arm around her as they walked into the house. Observing that familiarity with her had bothered him.

Will thought with some certainty that the dark-haired man must be the father of Caroline's baby. Yet what was it to him? He had no claim on Caroline. She shared a past with someone else.

Will arrived home and unlocked the front door of Taunton's. The familiar smell of books greeted him, but instead of lingering in the shop to do a little work, he decided to go up to the apartment. He turned on the lights. The sky was now fully dark. It was going to be a starless night. The young woman working behind the counter in the café had been talking about snow. She told him they usually got one good blizzard before Christmas. It might be soon.

He set the container of soup on the kitchen counter. The red light of his answering machine blinked. He pressed the play button. Crystal's voice, choked with tears, made him stop short. “You can't tutor me anymore,” she said. “Ms. Wiseman's really angry too.” Then a pause. “My dad says don't call here.” The automated voice clicked on: “There are no more messages. All messages have been played back.” Will collapsed into his reading chair and lowered his head into his hands.

Caroline thought of Pete's visit again a few days later. How odd that a man who had stirred up her life in such a dramatic way—one night of unexpected lovemaking, with the unintended consequences—was really gone from her life. A kind of calm fell over her in knowing for certain that there was no going back, but it was unsettling too. Such a strange turn of events. She pulled herself up against the pillows and looked out the window. It was still dark.

It didn't get light until almost eight thirty in the morning. In the north and so far east, the Maine days were extremely short. She had had a bad night, sleeping fitfully when she slept at all. Leg cramps had awakened her throughout the night. Lila's bed, always such a pleasure at the end of each day, now seemed hard and lumpy to her, and it was becoming more and more difficult to find a comfortable position for sleep.

Caroline dressed and went down to the kitchen. She turned on the radio to get the weather. The sky was a leaden gray, the air damp. People in the village had been talking about snow. She had purchased a bag of some snow-melting material at the hardware store and stocked up on groceries the day before. Still, Lila's house was cozy. Vern had put up the storm windows while she had been away at Thanksgiving. Caroline felt snug and safe from the weather. Vern's nephew, Tim, was going to plow for her, and Vern said that for a little extra he would also be willing to shovel a path from the house to the garage. Dottie called every few days to check on her.

She had finished her book proposal, but found that the outline itself was proving more difficult. Even though she didn't need to flesh it out in great detail, she had to have a good idea of what each chapter would cover. Her goal was to submit it to the agent Vivien had recommended by the end of January so she could put her mind on the baby's arrival in February.