East Hope (48 page)

She got up and pulled on her robe. The smell of bacon made her realize she was very hungry, and she could hear sounds coming from the kitchen. Could Rob be up already? Holding the banister, she made her way downstairs. The treads creaked with her weight. There, at the stove, Rob was turning a piece of bacon. Butter sizzled on the griddle next to it.

“Good morning,” she said.

He turned around and spoke quickly. “Hey, Mom.”

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“Pretty hungry,” he said, and almost shyly turned back to the stove. “How many pancakes can you eat?” he asked over his shoulder.

“A lot,” she said. “I'll pour the juice.” The sight of Rob at the stove cooking breakfast the way Harry used to touched her deeply. She went to the refrigerator and stared inside, trying to remember what she was looking for. She took a deep breath and picked up the carton of juice.

“I didn't know you could make pancakes,” she said carefully, not wanting to ruin this moment, so unexpected, so fragile. Here he was, kindly making breakfast when she had feared more accusatory looks, more sulking. Dared she hope for forgiveness?

“Not as good as Dad's,” he said, his voice a bit shaky, “but not bad, either.” He appeared to concentrate on his task, carefully easing the spatula under the edge of the cooking batter.

Caroline set the table. She moved slowly, trying to ignore the persistent ache in her back. Rob continued to pour out batter, and the pile of pancakes grew on a plate near the stove. She found some maple syrup in the pantry cupboard. The house was quiet but for the sounds of cooking, the opening and closing of drawers, the tinkling of dishes and silverware.

Rob carried the platter of pancakes to the table. The tightness in his face that had been there the night before was gone. Still, she wished he would smile.

Caroline served herself and passed the plate to Rob. “Thanks, sweetie. These look wonderful.” She smeared her pancakes with butter and poured on a generous amount of syrup.

He helped himself, set the plate down, and kept his eyes on his breakfast.

Caroline swallowed and wiped her mouth. “You doing okay?” she said tentatively. “I mean, did Dad's letter . . . ?”

“Please, Mom.” His face crumpled. He shook his head and brought his hands to his face. His body shook. “I don't want to talk about it.”

“Oh, Rob, my sweet boy, I'm so sorry I've made you unhappy.”

“Mom, it's not you.” He let out a sob, almost a moan, from someplace deep within him. His body curved forward, as if he'd been punched.

Caroline reached out for him, but her hand remained in the air. She was too frightened to touch him. She didn't want to upset him more. Her own body ached deeply, the old sadness flowing out of her heart. It had never left her. She brought her hand back and lowered her head. She had said all she could say.

Rob slowly seemed to pull himself back together. He spoke softly. “I'm okay about the baby.” He picked up his napkin and wiped his face. “Really. I am.” He looked at her squarely. His mouth softened. She thought she detected a tenderness in his gaze that wasn't there before. “Pete explained everything. He apologized. He said he hated making it hard between us.” Rob let out a deep sigh. “I miss Dad so much, that's all.” He began to cry again. “When I read his letter . . .” He paused and shook his head. “God, sorry, you don't need to have me falling apart.”

Caroline reached across and took his hands. “I'll always need you, even when you fall apart. Always, always I'll need you.” She was crying now. “And I want you to always need me. That's what being a family is all about.”

He nodded and held her hands tightly. “Thanks, Mom.”

“Look at us, crying over breakfast.” She smiled through her tears, then laughed. “It's been a long time since anyone has made me a meal,” she said, picking up her fork, “and this is just too good to waste.”

Rob nodded and started eating as well.

While they ate she began to tell him a little about East Hope, the house renovations, and the people she had met. She pointed out Will's house across the bay. All of a sudden she thought that breakfast had never tasted so good.

Later Rob told her about Christmas with Harry's father. “I shot a ninety-six one day,” he said. “Granddad said he'd set up some golf lessons for me if I come in the spring. What do you think, Mom? Maybe you and the baby could come down to Florida for my spring break.”

Caroline glanced out at the snow. “I think that's a great idea. I have a feeling I'll be ready for some warm weather by then.”

When she asked about Melanie his mood grew somber again. He told her that they had broken up.

“I'm so sorry,” she said.

“It's okay,” he said. “It was really my idea. It was on again, off again. Something wasn't working. She's doing okay. We talked before vacation. I think we're still friends.”

“That's good,” she said, thinking how hard it must have been for her son this fall. Yet he seemed assured, even confident as he sat there telling her about the breakup.

Later, when they were doing the dishes, they heard the sound of the plow, and Vern's nephew arrived to clear the driveway. Rob said he'd go out and shovel a pathway to the garage. “We may need to get the car out today,” he said after an affectionate glance at her belly. She found him an extra sweater to layer under his jacket. She watched from the window as he bent, wielding the shovel and working his way from the house to the driveway. Huge sprays of snow flew up and over his shoulder as he dug.

As Caroline climbed the stairs to get dressed, her belly tightened. It felt harder than usual this morning. She stopped. The baby wasn't moving much. Maybe today would be the day.

In the afternoon Rob made a fire in the living room fireplace. He brought Harry's letter down to her. “Thanks, Mom,” he said. “I'm glad you showed me this.” He met her gaze and smiled.

She asked him if he wanted to keep it. He said no, that she should have it. Neither of them spoke of the letter again. It was as if they both agreed they needed to quietly savor the calm after a storm.

“Would you mind putting it under the Chinese bowl on the table in the hall?” she said. “I'll put it away later.”

He went to the hall. “What's with this clock?” he called out. “Doesn't it work?”

Caroline explained that Hollis had showed her how to wind it, but that the last time it had stuck when she tried to do it. “The directions are in the drawer,” she said. At that moment she experienced a sharp pain. The backache had become something else. She got up and walked slowly to the kitchen, needing to move, wanting the pain to go away.

At the sink the pain came again. She gripped the counter and waited. The pain subsided. She glanced at her watch. The minute hand swept full circle. Then several times more. Five minutes went by. Nothing else happened. She filled a glass with water.

Rob called from the hall. “I think I got it to work.”

Caroline stood still and listened. The even ticking of the clock once again filled the house.

Within the hour the contractions were less than ten minutes apart. For the third time in her life Caroline was pulled into the all-powerful experience of giving birth. It was as if she were being hurtled into a vast stream with a strong current forcing her along among the rapids, at moments fast and smooth and then, without warning, wrenching and rough, like crashing into jagged rocks. Dr. Carney instructed Caroline to come to the hospital immediately.

Rob wanted to drive her to Ellsworth in the old Volvo. She told him that car was too heavy in front, not great on the snow-covered roads, and that Dottie and Vern were on call to drive her into Ellsworth when she needed them.

“Mom, I've got an idea,” he said. “I'll call Will. His Jeep is great in the snow.”

Another pain hit. She breathed into it, willing her mind to move outside her body. This was only the beginning. When the contraction was over she nodded and told him where to find Will's number. Rob strode into the kitchen immediately and got on the phone.

She went up to her room and put the items she needed into her overnight bag. Another contraction made her stop and hold her breath. This time she forced herself to breathe deeply while the pain, like an intense heat, tightened her belly. When it subsided she looked again at the bassinet in the corner of her room. Her mother had sent her a soft white blanket and a plush brown bear along with a card that read,
For your Maine baby, With love, Mother.
She opened the drawer where the tiny clothes, clean and soft, lay waiting for the little person who was now, without a doubt, on the way.

At last,
she thought. On this cold afternoon, the seventh day of February, her baby was coming. Lila's dear house, silent for so long, would be silent no longer. She went for her coat, but as the next contraction set in she had to lower herself to a chair. The contractions were definitely coming closer. Finally she heard the sound of Will's car. Rob, looking terrified but determined to be brave, carried her bag and walked her out to the car. “Careful, Mom,” he said. “Don't slip.” He had taken her arm, and she felt his grip firmly on her elbow. If she fell, he would go with her. Will helped her into the front seat and placed a blanket across her lap.

By this time Caroline found it hard to speak. Rob sat behind his mother. He kept his hands on her shoulders during the drive, but soon his kind words, his mumbled phrases intended to soothe her were drowned out in the waves of pain that were coming faster and faster. She was vaguely aware of arriving at the hospital, of a hurried exchange of insurance cards, one more form to sign between contractions.

Rob and Will, with worried smiles and fumbling hugs, turned her over to an efficient nurse. At this moment Caroline was ready to leave them behind. Next came the frantic change into a nightgown, some flimsy piece of printed cotton that hardly mattered, the nurses wheeling the bed, the bright lights, and the cold delivery room. Dr. Carney's encouraging voice felt like a blurred dream. Sounds at a great distance, the smell of disinfectant, the steady beeping of a monitor, the gentle coaxing of the nurse at her side, all became a jumble of annoyances interfering with this force controlling her body. All she wanted was her baby. The months of kicks, the pressure on her spine, the huge belly that blocked the sight of her toes now became her baby.
My baby, my baby,
she thought. Yes, it was right.

Suddenly Caroline was overcome by a feeling of power. She was doing this on her own. Pete was far away, her mother was resting at home waiting for her old bones to knit back together, and Will and Rob were somewhere pacing in a waiting room. And here in the cold Maine winter she was doing this totally amazing thing. Her body was doing its job. A sudden energy surged forth. Her baby was coming and her life was going to change.

Faces flashed into her mind, like quick images on a movie screen. Harry when she first met him. Rob, the infant. Her mother smiling from the old chintz chair in their living room in Connecticut. Her father wiping sweat off his brow in his garden. Will, sitting on the rocky beach behind the bookstore. She saw Lila's house awash in the golden light of a summer afternoon. She pictured the lilacs in bloom in the spring and the sparkle of the bay, and the days growing longer and longer. The light, the shimmering brightness of the world around her, flooded her vision. She closed her eyes, allowing her body to ride the next wave, this one more powerful than the rest.

“Okay. Now, Caroline.” Dr. Carney's voice interrupted her dreaming. “Go ahead and push.”