“What are we having?”
“A salad I read about in one of my magazines,” said Grace. “And before you start groaning, there’s flank steak I’ve been marinating all day for you. You can just throw it on the grill ten minutes before we want to eat.”
“Perfect,” said Bradley, already walking back toward the house. “I’ll see you both in a little while.”
* * *
Bradley ran on the beach and then along the several side streets that led to Main Street. It was busy now, with cars parked on both sides, their owners meandering along the sidewalks looking for a summer novelty item in one of the shops or an empty table at one of the open-air cafés. He checked his watch; it was six thirty, and the town was hopping with young people, with people his age. They were sitting in groups or in pairs, sipping cocktails, smiling and laughing at their good fortune in life. In the seven or eight places Bradley ran past, he spotted only one couple with a child. Everyone else was unencumbered and just getting started on what could become a memorable night.
Bradley loved this time of year. In the middle of June, the days were warm and the nights were cool and the impending summer season was full of promise. Because school was still in session, the streets in the evening were not yet clogged with baby strollers and elementary school–aged children sporting miniature pastel-colored baseball caps, holding melting ice cream cones, and using their outdoor voices. Right now, the restaurants belonged to the young professionals, still dressed in their office clothing, enjoying a few beverages and a meal out. They would check their phones frequently—some for work, but many for the answer to a question posed by the group about the next event on their evening calendar: a party, a musical act at a bar, an impromptu gathering at a friend’s house, whatever came through in a text message. They had no inquisitive parents or needy children at home. They had nothing to do but blow off steam from the workday and sip alcoholic drinks with their friends. A year ago, Bradley had been where they were, out with friends on a Thursday night, no pressing business until the following day.
Bradley took a right at the light and ran along the street that led to Grace’s house, to his house. When he got there, he ran around the house to the beach. He quickly removed his shoes, socks, and shirt, and then sprinted to the shoreline and dove in. The water, not yet holding the warmth of the June sun, cooled his overheated body, softened the sharp images running around his brain. He swam the length of the beach, some two hundred yards, and back and then dragged himself out of the water. He picked up his clothing and then walked toward the back deck, where Grace had hung a towel over the railing. He rinsed off in the outdoor shower that he had restored, with Kevin’s help, just after Grace had the baby. When he walked into the kitchen, Grace handed him a beer. “You read my mind,” he said.
Grace laughed. “At seven thirty on a Thursday night, it’s easy to read your mind.”
He kissed her lips. “I’m going to get some clothes on. I’ll be right back.”
Over dinner, they talked about the baby. Bradley had wanted to talk about a weekend away, just the two of them, to a place where they could relax and forget about parenthood. Seeing all these young people in town had given Bradley the idea. He knew his parents would fly in to take care of Hope. And he was excited about the prospect of taking Grace on vacation, maybe as soon as the July Fourth weekend. But Grace was preoccupied with what she called tummy time and with Hope’s ability to hold her head up.
Bradley tried to listen, as Grace extolled Hope’s physical and mental capacities, but his mind wandered. He didn’t understand what all the excitement was about. Hope could hold her head up, great. But at twelve weeks, she was still a totally dependent infant, whose only true contribution to Bradley’s happiness was her smile. And he did like to see her light up when she saw him. But the pleasant sensation brought by this tiny grin was fleeting. Bradley couldn’t figure out if this was because he wasn’t engaged enough, or if it was honestly not that big a deal—nothing close to what Grace thought it was.
Maybe this was the key difference between mothers and fathers; the mother went nuts over every accomplishment, if a smile could be called one, no matter how small, and the father didn’t. Fathers could pretend they were interested, but Bradley suspected that many of them were as disinterested as he was. But he didn’t know, of course, because none of his friends were fathers. They were too young to be fathers; Bradley was too young to be a father. And then he took that back; he wasn’t too young, he simply wasn’t ready. He had thought he was ready. He had convinced himself, during the second half of Grace’s pregnancy and when Hope was born, that he was ready. But here he was, already three months in, and he did not feel a strong, everlasting connection to his daughter.
As Grace babbled on about Hope’s eyes tracking objects, Bradley thought about what it would be like to walk away from this relationship, to leave Grace and the baby behind and to regain or restart his life. He would have to find a new job, since it would be impossible for either one of them to endure seeing each other every day. Finding another job would not be a problem: Bradley’s résumé was impressive, and he had a lot of contacts in the world of media relations. He could find another job in less than a week, especially if he were willing to leave the city. He would have to find a new place to live. Again, this would not be a problem. He would first find the job, and then he would find an apartment nearby. Maybe he’d make enough money to buy a condominium.
The guilt he would feel was the problem. He had made a commitment to Grace and to Hope, and he would be breaking that oath; there was no other way to look at it. And it would be devastating for a while, for both him and Grace. Hope, however, at this very young age, would never know the difference. If Bradley walked out the door now, or a month or even a year from now, Hope would not remember him. She would not know about his existence until she was old enough to figure it out or unless Grace chose to tell her. Would it matter? After all, Grace had said that she was going to have and raise the baby whether Bradley was in or out. He could sit Grace down and tell her that he changed his mind, that it had been a painful decision, which it would be, but he had given it what he deemed a fair amount of thought and come to the realization that he was not suited for fatherhood.
“Are you ready?”
Bradley looked across the table at Grace, who was holding Hope with arms outstretched toward Bradley. He had little choice but to take her, which he did. “Ready for what?”
“To change her diaper,” said Grace. “She’s pretty stinky.”
This was their arrangement, that Grace would care for Hope throughout the day, but in the evening, Bradley would change Hope’s diaper whenever it was warranted, feed her a bottle of breast milk, and change her into whatever pajamas Grace had laid out on her changing table. If Grace hadn’t bathed her during the day, they would do this together in the evening.
“Bath?”
“I did that this afternoon,” said Grace. “She’s fresh and clean, except for her bottom.”
“I’m on it,” said Bradley, getting up from his seat. Carrying her out in front of him, as if her entire body rather than just her tiny bottom stunk, he took her into her room and laid her down on the changing table. He removed her cotton pants and the dirty diaper. He cleaned her according to Grace’s instructions with the organic wipes bought online. There were two plastic boxes of wipes on the shelf below Hope and two more in the closet that housed enough baby paraphernalia to care for sextuplets. He carefully removed Hope’s tiny cotton shirt, somehow prompting her to flail her arms and smile at him. He looked down at her face and their eyes connected. He lowered his head to block out the other stimuli in the room—the light coming from the lamp in the corner, the smell he had released from the diaper pail when he opened the lid for the latest deposit. Hope continued to look at him, with eyes that were shaped like his hovering over a miniature version of Grace’s nose and mouth, pursed to form the smallest of O’s. There was no doubt that Hope was his child, that he was a
part of her, and that nothing, even his disappearance, could erase her genetic blueprint. He leaned in even closer, allowing one of her hands to brush his cheek. And when he offered her his finger, she took it and held on tightly.
CHAPTER 47
When Grace’s cell phone rang and the screen indicated the call was from her mother, Grace’s heart froze solid in her chest. “Stop,” she said aloud. “Stop being afraid.” Grace cleared her throat and picked up the phone.
“Grace, it’s your mother,” she said. “It’s Robin, your mother.”
Hearing the anxiety in her mother’s voice helped Grace to know that she was not alone in her struggles with the complexities of this relationship.
“Well, hello,” said Grace, forcing warmth into her voice as she sat down on the living room couch. “How are you?”
“I’m just fine. How about you?”
“I’m fine, as well,” said Grace. “How was your vacation?”
“It was perfect. People think it’s silly to go to Florida in June, but we do it every year. It’s off-season, so the prices are good, and it’s much less crowded than it is in the winter. We call it our early dose of summer. By the time we get back, the warm weather has made its way to New Hampshire.”
“Do you go to Disney World?”
“That’s all we do, Grace,” said Robin, sounding more at ease. “I never went as a child, and I always wanted to. George has gone just about every year since the park opened in 1971. He’s seen so many changes. And we both just love it. There’s no better place than Disney World to feel like a kid all over again.”
“I’m glad you had a good time. Maybe I’ll take Hope someday.”
“We could all go together,” said Robin. “I know George would like it. I’m sure your husband would, too.”
Grace chose to say nothing about the fact that she didn’t have a husband, as neither Kenny nor Bradley fit that description. It was too complicated to explain. So, even though her estranged mother’s suggestion of taking a trip to Florida was laughable, Grace said, “That sounds like fun,” in an effort at keeping up the appearance of a regular, routine conversation between an in-touch, connected mother and daughter.
“But I suppose we’ll need to get to know each other a little bit better before we book the flights.”
“Yes,” said Grace, grateful that Robin seemed to have one foot on the ground. Getting to what both of them wanted to talk about, Grace then said, “Thank you for your note indicating your willingness to do that. I’m sorry I lost my temper. I hadn’t intended on dwelling on the past, and as soon as I saw you, I dove in headfirst.”
“I’m sorry, too, Grace. I underestimated how difficult a meeting might be, for both of us. But I am absolutely willing to try again if you are.”
“I am,” said Grace. “What do you propose we do?”
“I had a couple thoughts. We can either meet in the middle again, at a different location, or you can come here, or I can go there.”
Grace hesitated, wondering what a visit to Robin’s home would be like. If Grace went there, she would not be expected to bring the husband she did not have. But it would make for a tiring day, six hours on the road. That would be a long stretch for Hope in her car seat. Of course, Grace could stay over. But unless she wanted to stay at her mother’s house, which she didn’t, she’d need to get a hotel room. And in her mother’s small town, the only offering might be a dingy, outdated roadside motel. In her previous job, Grace had traveled occasionally on business and grown accustomed to meals in upscale restaurants and nights spent in four-star hotels. The thought of subjecting her daughter—and herself, if she were going to be honest about it—to a night in a room featuring pressed-board furniture, stained shag carpeting, and a mattress from the 1970s, was unappealing.
Inviting her mother to her house was equally unappealing. Grace could easily send Bradley away; he would love a night out in the city with the Young Turks, as Grace called his male college friends. But Robin would undoubtedly want to see photos or perhaps even see a wedding album. And, again, Grace thought the less said the better.
“Let’s meet in the middle again,” said Grace.
* * *
The new location George found for a quiet lunch was just a few miles down the road from the restaurant where everything had gone so badly. It was a beautiful late-June day, so Grace, holding Hope, waited outside her car until her mother pulled into the lot and parked next to her. They walked together into Lillian’s, which was cozier, homier than the other place. There were just a dozen or so tables, covered in pink polyester cloths, already set for lunch with folded white paper napkins and plain stainless-steel flatware. A single pink carnation housed in a clear plastic bud vase served as the centerpiece.
“Isn’t this darling?” Robin said.
“Yes,” said Grace. “It looks just right.” Per Dorrie’s instructions, Grace was practicing her best etiquette. One of the reasons the first lunch had been disastrous, Dorrie told Grace, was that Grace went too deep too quickly. This had not been Grace’s intention. But because she hadn’t adequately thought through what might happen, there’d been no pulling the train back onto the track once it had derailed. Dorrie had assured Grace that this was not her fault, that it was natural for her to be upset. But Dorrie also told Grace it would be smart to treat this next lunch with her mother like a business meeting rather than a casual meal, and as such to give it careful consideration and planning. They rehearsed conversation topics over the phone together, complete with possible scenarios and how to handle each one if it arose. Grace and Dorrie agreed that light and breezy was the way to go. Only when Grace and her mother formed a bond, if that was even possible, could serious, meaningful discussion take place.
So Grace stayed away from the danger zones, away from button-pushing topics like her childhood, and concentrated on the here and now. And the easiest way for her to do this was to talk about Hope. She told Robin, whom Dorrie suggested Grace call Robin instead of Mom, that Hope had become more alert and was swiping at objects with her hands. She was also smiling more, as well as what Grace called talking. She no longer seemed to use crying as her sole means of communication. Robin nodded politely as Grace told one story after another about how miraculous it was for her as a mother to witness her baby’s achievements. She knew she was deviating from the script, but she couldn’t stop herself from trying to make Robin see that being a mother didn’t have to be shameful or painful or sorrowful, but that it could be joyful. If Robin noticed the undercurrent in Grace’s tale telling, she said nothing.
“But the best part,” said Grace, “is that she’s sleeping for six hours in the night. And I am thrilled! Being the mother of a newborn is challenging for a lot of reasons, but the most difficult to overcome is sleep deprivation.”
“I remember,” said Robin, surprising Grace with this statement.
“What do you remember?” asked Grace, in a neutral tone.
Robin smiled at her. “You were a very good baby, in many ways Grace. You hardly ever cried, and you drank your bottle down like nobody’s business.”
“You didn’t breastfeed me?”
“No. My father didn’t want me to.”
Instead of asking why, of asking something that might make her mother uncomfortable, Grace said, “Well, that explains all my winter colds.” She smiled at Robin, who smiled back.
“But you were an excellent sleeper,” said Robin. “You slept through the night at ten weeks.”
“How do you remember that?”
“Trust me,” said Robin. “When Hope first sleeps through the night, the date will be burned into your memory forever.”
Wanting to give Robin a chance to talk, Grace asked about George. And Robin happily told the story of their initial meeting at the bank and of their ensuing courtship. She was so caught up that she appeared not to notice when Grace breastfed Hope at the table. Robin laughed as she recounted a story about George’s elderly parents and their insistence on having a weddi
ng celebration, even though she and George had already been married at the town hall.
“How about your parents?” asked Grace, breaking her own rule about safe topics. “Did they want to celebrate, too?”
Robin grew serious for a moment, and then said, “My parents, your grandparents, are dead, Grace. They’ve been gone six, no, seven years, now.”
Grace, who did not feel even the slightest tinge of sadness, asked, “What happened?”
“They died of lung cancer, both of them. Did you know they were smokers?”
“No,” said Grace. “I never saw either of them smoke. Although, I do remember smelling smoke on them.”
“Yes!” said Robin. “I did, too. But they always had a ready excuse. My dad blamed the guys at work, and my mom blamed it on her clients’ houses. I never gave it a thought.”
“Well, I’m sorry for your loss,” she said, even though she didn’t consider their death a loss, and she wasn’t sorry.
Robin wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “It’s okay,” she said. “They suffered in the end, so their passing was a blessing.”
“I see.”
Robin reached for her water glass. “And while we’re on this morbid topic, I might as well also tell you that your father is dead, as well.”
“My father?”
“The one who impregnated me in the back of his car on prom night. Bryan.”
“Oh.”
“Yes,” said Robin. “He died many years ago, actually, just a year or two after you were born, in a car accident.”
“Oh dear,” said Grace. “That must have been upsetting for you.”
Robin lifted her empty water glass, tipping a soft, melting ice cube into her mouth. “Not really,” she said. “I was over him by then.” She then changed topics before signaling the server for more water.
As soon as Hope was done eating, Grace announced that she’d had a lovely time but needed to get back in the car to beat the afternoon traffic, an excuse she and Dorrie had talked about as a means to leave if, when, or before the conversation became uncomfortable.
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