The Beach Quilt (22 page)

Joe was sitting at the kitchen table reading the local daily paper. Cindy wasn't sure how he was feeling, but he
looked
perfectly calm. Cindy was a bit envious. She didn't know how he did it, what with all the distressing news lately.

The water bill was higher this month than last and while it was true that it was a pretty dry summer, the bill seemed inflated and would require a phone call. They had heard a report on the national morning news predicting that the economy was still far from a good recovery. And one of Joe's steadiest clients had told them he was moving at the end of the summer. He would recommend Joe to the new owners, but he couldn't promise they would choose his services.

Cindy felt her heart speed up. It was unlike her to panic, and she couldn't help but think of what her mother would say. Worrying was interest paid on a debt that might never come due. That was true enough, but how did you prevent the worrying and the panic from starting up in the
first
place?

And Sarah's pregnancy was by far the most disruptive thing that had ever happened in her life, more disruptive even than the miscarriages and her mother's passing. Still, she had been trying to keep her fears and worries from Joe; he had enough to handle, especially with the extra jobs he had taken on.

The plate Cindy had been drying slipped out of her hand and shattered as it hit the floor.

“Oh, damn!” she cried.

Joe made to rise. “I'll take care of it,” he said.

“No, no, it's okay. I broke it. I'll clean it up.”

Cindy fetched the broom and dustpan, swept up the broken pieces of the plate, dumped them into a paper bag, and put the bag into the trash can.

“Cindy,” Joe said when she was done, “you look exhausted. Come sit down.”

She did, and the words came spilling out. “Oh, Joe, I feel so guilty. Somewhere along the line I must have failed as a mother. Why else would Sarah have been so careless?”

“You didn't fail your daughter, Cindy.”

“I did, Joe! I should have been able to protect her from this.”

Joe shook his head. “I don't know what to say, Cindy. Except that it's my job, too, to protect her. But I don't think it's our fault that she got pregnant.”

His words barely registered with Cindy. “It's a mother's job to keep her children safe. And I failed. I wish she had come to me before she had sex with that boy. I'm sure he talked her into it! He might even have forced her! God, she must have been so frightened!”

“Now, there's no good in imagining all sorts of things,” Joe said firmly. “Or in wishing you could turn back the clock.”

Cindy knew he was right. She felt her anger deflate, but the regret remained. “Oh, I know,” she said, “but I can't stop wondering what I might have said or done differently. I can't stop
thinking
!”

“There's a time and a place for thinking, Cindy. And then there's a time when what's required is action. Moving forward.”

Cindy laughed unhappily. “Sometimes I feel that I'm doing absolutely nothing constructive for Sarah. Making a quilt for her baby is hardly
doing
anything to make things easier for her.”

“It's doing more than you think, Cindy. It's the small things that count. You know that.”

Cindy nodded reluctantly. “And poor Stevie. I so hope she's not feeling neglected because of all the attention her sister has been getting.”

“Stevie's strong,” Joe said. “And smart.”

“I know that. I also know that she keeps things to herself. Whenever I ask her if she's okay, all she says is that she's fine.”

“Then we just have to believe that she is fine. Until she tells us otherwise.”

Cindy sighed. Joe was right. He always was. “Thank you, Joe,” she said. “I'm sorry—”

Joe put his hand over hers. “Nothing to be sorry about.”

Cordelia and Stevie were perched on an outcrop of rock by the water in Perkins Cove. Clarissa sat in between the girls, her orange-tipped tail tucked neatly around her front paws.

Cordelia was wearing jean shorts (artfully ripped by the manufacturer) and a navy and white striped T-shirt with a decidedly nautical look. Her sunglasses were enormous (her eyesight was bad enough; the last thing she needed was to burn her retinas or something equally gross). Her flip-flops were white (probably a mistake as they were only three weeks old and already kind of dirty).

Stevie was wearing a pair of black shorts that came to her knees, a long-sleeved chambray shirt, and bright green Converse high-tops. (She told Cordelia she had saved her allowance for almost a year to afford them.)

“It's so pretty here, isn't it?” Cordelia said. “With the sun glittering on the water. Can you imagine, I don't know, a cape that looked like what the water looks like now? A cape fit for an empress!”

“Yeah. Cordelia? If I tell you something, a deep dark secret, will you promise to keep it a secret?”

“Sure,” Cordelia said promptly. “I mean, unless you're going to tell me you're a mass murderer or something!”

“Nothing that bad,” Stevie assured her.

“Then, of course.”

Stevie put her hand on Clarissa's sleek head. “The thing is, I'm gay.”

Cordelia felt her eyes widen. “Really?” she said. “I had no idea.”

“You didn't suspect?”

“No. Why should I have?”

Stevie shrugged, causing Clarissa to leap into her lap, where Stevie began to stroke her back. “I don't know. It's just that I've been wondering if anyone has guessed.”

“Oh. Has anyone said anything to you about being gay?”

“No. But maybe someone's thinking something.”

Cordelia frowned. Someone was always thinking something ! You couldn't stop people from speculating. She herself did it all the time! “You know,” she said, “being gay isn't bad at all. You said the secret wasn't ‘that bad.' ”

“I know,” Stevie assured her. “I'm not ashamed or anything.”

“Good.”

“Just . . . just that I feel a little vulnerable, I guess. And scared.”

“Don't be scared,” Cordelia said forcefully. “Just don't. And you're only vulnerable if you allow yourself to be. So don't do that, either.”

Stevie laughed. “Easier said than done!”

“I know. But remember you have me. I'm your friend.” It was really true, Cordelia thought. Stevie had become a friend in the past few months. And in a weird way, Sarah was to thank for that.

“Okay,” Stevie said. “Thanks.”

“So, um, have you, you know, gone out with anyone?”

Stevie laughed. “No. You're the first person I've even told.”

“Oh. Is there someone at school you like?”

Stevie shrugged again. “Kind of. But even I know I'm way too young to really date. Besides, I don't even know if she's gay, too.”

“Right. It's not like you can just ask someone . . .” Cordelia wondered. “But maybe it's okay to ask. I mean, how else would you know?”

“Well, sometimes you can kind of tell . . .”

“Oh. Like if a girl dresses in baggy jeans and plaid shirts then probably she's gay.”

“Maybe. Or maybe she just likes plaid!”

“Yikes,” Cordelia said. “You're right. I like plaid. In small amounts and only in the winter, but still, I like it. Look, I hope I don't sound like an idiot about this, Stevie. I'm actually really glad you told me. I'm honored.”

“Thanks. I guess I'm glad I told you, too.”

“Good. And I know your parents are going to be fine with it.”

Stevie's eyes widened in alarm. “But you won't say a word, right? You promised.”

“Of course not. My lips are sealed.”

“Because I don't know when I'll tell them. Maybe not for a long time.”

“No problem, Stevie, really. I can keep a secret. But will you tell Sarah soon?”

“Not yet. It's not like she has any time for me. Ugh. That sounded really stupid.”

“No, it didn't,” Cordelia told her. “Sometimes I feel the same way, like I could shake her and say, ‘Hey! It's me, remember ?' But I think that's normal. I mean, we're probably not as important to her now as we once were. Maybe once the baby's here and things settle down, she'll have more time for us.”

But Cordelia wasn't at all sure that would be true.

“So you don't like boys even a little?” Cordelia asked, hoping that wasn't an insulting question. No one had ever come out to her before!

“Well, I like them well enough,” Stevie said. “I just don't want to, you know, do stuff with them.”

“Oh. It's just that some people are bisexual.”

Stevie laughed. “That sounds way too confusing to me!”

“Me too. Sheesh.”

Suddenly, Clarissa stood up on Stevie's lap and began to make that freaky, clacking sound cats make when they spot likely prey. It made Cordelia wince.

“Maybe we'd better go,” Stevie said, grabbing Clarissa to her chest. “Because in about one minute that seagull over there is going to be history.”

Cordelia jumped to her feet. “Ugh! Come on!”

Stevie followed, clutching a very annoyed Clarissa very tightly.

Sarah steeled herself. If she were going to make this offer, then she was going to have to mean it. She couldn't be a tease about it, suggesting an adoption and then backing out. She was going to have to stand by her word.

“Mom,” she said, hoping her voice wasn't shaking. Her hands certainly were. “I've been thinking. A lot. And maybe . . . maybe adoption is the right thing to do.”

Her mother dropped the dish towel she had been holding onto the floor. Sarah somewhat awkwardly retrieved it. Her mother's face wore an expression of shock.

“What?” she said. “But we've all decided . . . we've been making plans. We're making a quilt. We
want
the baby.”

“I know, but . . .” Sarah pressed her lips together to stop them from trembling.
Come on,
she scolded silently.
You're doing this for your family.

“What brought this on, Sarah?” her mother asked.

“Nothing. It's just that I've been thinking about how difficult it's going to be for you and Dad, and it seems like the only reasonable way to handle things is to . . .” Sarah found she couldn't go on, no matter how hard she tried to.

Her mother took Sarah's arms and held them tightly. She looked searchingly, almost imploringly into her daughter's eyes. “Answer me honestly,” she said. “Promise?”

Sarah nodded. It was an automatic gesture. She wasn't quite sure what words might come out of her mouth next.

“Do you really want to give up your child?” her mother asked.

Sarah hesitated. She wasn't sure there was any point in lying at this point. “No,” she said. “But—”

“But nothing. Please,
please
trust me, Sarah. Everything will be all right. I promise.”

Sarah laughed, but it was a wild and unhappy laugh. “You can't promise that, Mom. No one can.”

“Yes,” Cindy said forcefully, tightening her grip on Sarah's arms. “I can promise and I do. I will make everything all right.”

Sarah just stood there, silent. Had her mother become delusional? Had she become so desperate to keep the family intact that she would ignore a difficult reality—like a new baby to feed, clothe, and rear—until it was too late to defend against it?

Sarah closed her eyes. This had been a huge mistake. She had probably caused more grief by proposing an adoption at this point when it was clear that for better or worse none of them wanted to let the baby go. At least, her mother didn't want to let him go, and neither did she.

“Sarah?”

She opened her eyes. Her mother released her hold.

“You look tired. Why don't you lie down for a while? I'll call you for dinner.”

Sarah didn't have the strength to answer or to argue. She nodded and turned to leave the kitchen.

“Sarah?”

Sarah looked over her shoulder.

“Don't tell your father we had this conversation, all right? I'll speak to him.”

Sarah nodded and left.

It was a little after ten o'clock in the evening when Adelaide put the cooking magazine she had been pretending to read on her bedside table.

“I've been thinking,” she said.

Jack, in the bed next to her, raised an eyebrow. “Often a dangerous thing.”

“This is serious, Jack. I've been thinking that now might be a good time to tell Cordelia about the adoption.”

“Really?” Jack put aside the book he had been enjoying, a classic espionage novel set during the Cold War. “Why now? Isn't she still a little young?”

“I don't think so, no. And,” she said, “I can't help but think that knowing about my experience when I was seventeen will help Cordelia come to terms with Sarah's situation.”

“Maybe,” Jack said, but he sounded dubious. “Just remember that once that news is out there, you can't take it back.”

Adelaide sighed. “I know.”

“On the other hand,” Jack pointed out, “there's no obligation ever to tell Cordelia, is there? Unless, and this is a macabre thought, someday in the future Cordelia falls in love with someone who turns out to be this young man and then . . .”

“God, Jack, don't even think that!” Though Adelaide herself had considered the awful possibility more than once, to hear it voiced aloud was doubly horrifying.

“Sorry,” Jack said. “I have an imaginative mind.”

“Am I being selfish?” she asked her husband, after a moment in which she recalled her conversation with Maggie Collins at the library. “Wanting Cordelia to know?”

“I don't see how, unless you're hoping to gain something from it. Are you?”

“I don't think so.”
Not even sympathy?
a little voice in her head asked her. “No,” Adelaide said firmly. “I don't want anything. I guess it's just that I'm not one hundred percent sure I'm doing the right thing.”

“Then, don't tell her yet. Maybe a better time will come.”

“Hmm. Maybe.” Was there ever a good time for the revelation of a secret so big? And really,
were
her motives so pure and unselfish? How could anyone ever really know if she was doing something for the right reasons?

“How did you feel after you told Cindy about the adoption?” Jack asked.

“Relieved, mostly,” Adelaide admitted. “Of course, I had no choice but to tell her. I'd really upset her by pushing the idea of an adoption. I felt I had to explain my—my insistence. And to apologize.”

“And how did Cindy feel?”

“Terribly sad.”

“And she's an adult. Cordelia's only a kid. Think about it a bit more, okay?” Jack suggested.

“I will,” she promised.

“Remember that old adage: When in doubt, don't.”

Adelaide smiled. “You and your old adages!”

“Yes, well, my old adages and I are going to sleep now if this conversation is over.”

“It is. Good night, Jack.”

He leaned over and kissed her. “Good night, Adelaide.”

Adelaide turned off the light on her bedside table and lay staring into the dark for a long time. She had promised Jack she would think more about her decision to tell Cordelia about the adoption. But by the morning, she didn't need to give the subject any further thought. She knew what she was going to do.