by Nancy Thayer
Claudia picked up a book and began to read.
Oh, Polly thought. I forgot. You have no interest in me and mine. “Shall we turn on the evening news?”
“Good idea.” Claudia put the book down. “I’d like to see how Martha Stewart’s faring.”
——————————
Carolyn told her secretary she was going to slip home for a little afternoon catnap. What she really intended was more like cat burglary. Not that she would steal anything, except, she hoped, some information.
She’d only just brought her car to a stop at the porte cochere when a blue Subaru pulled up behind her and Polly stepped out, looking chic in an emerald green cape.
“James Bond, I presume,” Carolyn greeted Polly.
“More like Inspector Clouseau, I’m afraid,” Polly joked, following Carolyn into the house. “My god, this place is a pile! And I mean that in the nicest possible way.”
Carolyn laughed as she led Polly down the main hall. “That’s great-grandmother Geraldine Helena, who started it all,” she said, pointing to a painting. “The others are all ancestors, too. It’s rather Addams family, I know, all this dark wood, but somehow we’re always so busy with the company we never have time even to think of changing things here at home.”
They stopped in the doorway to the shared living room. Taking in the massive Empire furniture, the Victorian settees, the velvet love seats, and the stodgy oils of hunt scenes and landscapes, Polly said, “It does seem a bit Masterpiece Theatre in here.”
“True. Probably why Hank and I chose to furnish our part of the house in simple modern lines. I’ll show you, but first, let’s go check out my father’s wing while we know he and Heather are gone. Just toss your cape here,” she directed Polly, draping her own coat over the banister of the main staircase.
They went back down the hall, through the kitchen, and into the housekeeper’s office. “This is where I found Heather snooping through Mrs. B.’s accounts.” Out of breath, Carolyn sank for a moment into the leather swivel chair behind the desk.
“Hey, are you okay?” Polly’s forehead wrinkled with concern.
“I think so. I just like to sit down whenever I get the chance.”
“When is your baby due?”
“April twentieth.”
“Are you getting any regular exercise? I mean, steady, gentle exercise. Are you taking a walk every day, that kind of thing?”
“Well, I do yoga,” Carolyn reminded Polly.
“That’s good. But you should probably be doing some walking every day for twenty minutes or so. I mean, ask your doctor, of course. But I know you’re concerned about your blood pressure, and routine exercise can help with that, as well as get you in shape for labor.”
Carolyn rubbed her belly with her fingertips. “I’m pretty sure I walk enough, just around the office.”
“But that’s not steady exercise, and it’s not relaxing. You probably have employees rushing up to talk to you about work matters.”
“You’re right, I suppose.” Polly’s concern brought an unexpected lump to Carolyn’s throat. Struggling to sit upright in the leather chair, she said fiercely, “My great-grandmother did it all! Had her baby and began the paper mill and built this house!”
“Yes, but probably not all at the same time. I’ll bet your great-grandmother was younger than you when she had her first baby.”
Carolyn nodded. “She was eighteen.”
“There you are. Almost twenty years younger. She did it all, but not all at the same time, right? Besides, you might have some of her genes, but remember, you’re your own person.”
Carolyn lowered her eyes. “I don’t want to be weak.”
Polly laughed. “Who does? You know, Carolyn, one of the lessons having a baby taught me was that I had to cooperate with life, not try to rule it. That never works. Have you ever sailed?”
“Of course.”
“Well, having a child is a lot like sailing. You do your best to stay on course to achieve your destination, but you’ve got to learn to work with what nature throws your way. You can’t fight the strength or direction of the wind, you have to be flexible, ready to come about, tack, and trim your sails. On your best days, you’ll harness the wind. On your worst days, you’ll be lucky to keep from capsizing.” Suddenly Polly blushed. “Sorry about the metaphor. I don’t mean to lecture.”
“No, no, please,” Carolyn said hurriedly. “I like what you have to say.” It was unusual for her to have an attractive, admirable older woman, with her lovely face and wise eyes, bossily giving advice to Carolyn. Polly wasn’t holding back because she wanted to date Aubrey or gushing and flattering because Carolyn was Carolyn Sperry. “Did you get tired when you were pregnant? Or irrational?”
Polly’s tinkling laughter spilled through the air like bubbles. “Oh, you have no idea! Look, let’s finish up with this Heather business so we can go relax over a pot of herbal tea, then I’ll tell you all about it.” Back on task, Polly asked, “Did Heather have a reasonable explanation for snooping through the desk?”
“Yes. Said she wanted to find a map of the house and a list of Mrs. B.’s recipes, which does make sense, except that she had the household accounts ledger open, and when she saw that I saw, oh, man, she gave me a look that would straighten Medusa’s hair! She recovered immediately, morphed right back to sweet, innocent Heather, and said she wanted her name added to the account, so she could start buying food for herself and my father, which is reasonable. But that momentary glimpse of pure malice I saw in her eyes chilled me to the bone.”
“Did she act that way when you confronted her about the missing funds from your father’s credit line?”
Pushing with both hands off the desk, Carolyn raised her bulk back to a standing position. “Not at all. She was like a sweet little kitten with an injured paw, heartbroken by my callousness. All she wanted was to turn my father’s wing into their place. I certainly can’t fault her for that. I had to apologize. And really, all I have to go on is that one look she shot me, so perhaps I’m overreacting. I hope so.”
While she talked, she led Polly from the kitchen through the family room, down a hall, and into her father’s wing. At the door, Carolyn paused. She put a hand over her beating heart.
“You know, Polly, I can strike terror into the hearts of brilliant executives who earn a quarter million dollars a year at Sperry Paper Company. I’m a whiz at public speaking, which most people fear more than death. But if you weren’t here with me right now, I don’t think I’d have the courage to enter my father’s quarters, not now that he’s married to Heather, not now that I feel like I’m their enemy.”
“Well, I am here,” Polly reassured Carolyn. “Plus, you are not your father’s enemy. You are his daughter, taking the normal precautions anyone would.”
“What if they come home while we’re in here?”
Polly had already thought about this. “You’ll simply say I’m a new friend, a seamstress. I want to branch out into home décor, slipcovers, upholstered chairs, and so on. You’re showing me around the house so I can get a feel for design possibilities.”
“All right.” Carolyn took a deep breath. “That makes sense.” She shot Polly a trembling smile. “Why do I feel like such a guilty little child?”
“We never stop feeling that way around our parents. Now go on. Open the door.”
Carolyn put her hand on the knob and turned. They stepped inside.
“Oh, my.”
“You can say that again.”
The living room was crammed with furniture from every possible period. A plasma television hung over an elaborate gold table carved with gargoyles, lions, and fleur-de-lis. A plush new sofa in stunning gold and magenta brocade was centered between two marble and gilt tables. An Italianate gilt chair and a painted Regency armchair completed the seating arrangements. From one wall an enormous painted chinoiserie-style bureau loomed, while from another wall an ormolu-mounted marquetry French commode supported a la
rge porcelain vase filled with silk flowers.
“Let’s check the bedroom,” Polly urged.
Carolyn hesitated. “Oh, I don’t know, I think I’ve seen enough.”
“Just a quick peek.” Polly grabbed Carolyn’s arm and pulled her into the adjoining room.
Every inch of the bedroom was crowded with furniture, all of it draped, swagged, carpeted, and decorated in velvet, heavy silk, gilt, and chiffon. The centerpiece of the room was a white canopy bed, its headboard carved with cherubs, hearts, and flowers, all painted in shades of gold, pink, and blue. The mirror of a white and gold French-provincial vanity table reflected back its clutter of crystal perfume bottles, the damask vanity stool, and the elaborately inlaid regent bombé chest. A chaise longue with carved, scrolled, gilded feet and vivid magenta-and-white-striped cushions sat beneath the window, framed by more chiffon curtains.
“Shades of Marie Antoinette,” Carolyn whispered.
Polly snorted. “Marie Antoinette on acid.”
Carolyn shook her head. “Oh, dear, oh, dear, I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. I think she’s tried to out-antique us. She’s got every kind of possible period all jumbled together. She’s bought so much stuff, I can see how she spent two hundred thousand dollars.”
“Yeah, because she bought two hundred thousand pieces of furniture,” Polly jested. “Okay, let’s beat it, kid,” she said in her best Humphrey Bogart voice. “Before they come home.”
They hurried through the house to the safety of Carolyn’s own wing. Carolyn collapsed on the sofa while Polly made herbal tea for them both. She brought a mug to Carolyn, then settled on a chair nearby.
“So. Are your fears allayed?”
Carolyn looked into the rosy depths of the herbal tea. “Yes, I suppose so. I still don’t like her. I still don’t trust her, even though I can’t exactly explain why.” Impatient with herself, she waved a hand in the air, as if brushing her anxieties away. “Enough of that! I appreciate this, Polly. It was kind of you to take the time to assist me in my neurosis.”
“Don’t give it another thought,” Polly insisted. “I’m having fun.” Her eyes misting slightly, she confessed, “You have no idea how much I love being around someone young and pregnant. Even if my son’s wife hadn’t exiled me because she thinks I’ll transmit Claudia’s germs, I still wouldn’t be seeing much of my son and grandson. Amy just plain dislikes me, and I don’t know how I can change things.”
“I don’t understand how anyone could dislike you!” Carolyn proclaimed stoutly.
Polly laughed. “I don’t, either! Anyway, Carolyn, it’s a real gift to be around you, watching your belly get bigger every day.”
“Polly?”
“Yes?”
“Would you tell me the truth about labor? Is it really so very painful?”
Polly cocked her head, remembering. “For me, yes, it was. But you know what, I love remembering it, and every other woman I’ve ever talked to about it does, too. And it doesn’t have to be painful. Lots of my friends have had epidurals, and it hasn’t made the experience less amazing or the bond between mother and child any less powerful. The main thing, Carolyn, is the baby. You want the baby to be born healthy. And you want to be as strong as possible, to take care of the baby. Do you trust your doctor?”
Carolyn nodded. “I do.”
“That’s important. And you’ll be in a hospital, right, because of your blood pressure?”
“Yes.” Carolyn shifted on the sofa. “I’ve read quite a few books on childbirth, but sometimes they make me anxious.”
“A little anxiety is just part of the process. You know, your experience will be unique. It is different, special, every single time.”
“Like snowflakes?”
“More like volcanic eruptions,” Polly jested. She took a sip of tea. “Now! Is that a wallpaper book on the table?”
Carolyn grinned. “Indeed it is. I’m trying to choose a pattern for Geraldine’s room.”
“Yummy. Let me see your choices.” Polly scooted her chair closer.
Carolyn opened the book. The two women bent side by side, smiling at pages of sweet pastels, primary colors, ducklings and teddy bears, and the air in the room sweetened around them like a spring breeze, chasing despondent thoughts away.
20
On this January Sunday, the temperature hovered around zero. Each breath of frigid air stabbed the lungs like sabers. Frost snapped at fingers, noses, and toes. Most of the roads were empty of traffic, and in the country the deer were tucked away in their dens. Even the birds refused to come out in this cold.
So of course Sonny and his family decided to go ice skating at a local pond.
When Robin suggested it as they were gathered in the Young house, eating their Sunday dinner, Beth’s spirits had plummeted like the thermometer. She didn’t want to inform this bunch of jocks that she’d never been able to stand up on the ice, but she did think she’d wriggled out of going when she said, honestly, that she didn’t have any ice skates.
She should have known the Youngs would have all kinds of ice skates, and certainly a pair that fit Beth.
So they piled into their various SUVs and trucks, skidded along snow-lined country roads, and slogged through the snow down to a glassy, irregular oblong of ice surrounded by bushes and dried brown grasses shivering in the breeze.
“Here.” Sonny plopped down on a fallen log. “I’ll get my skates on, then help you lace up yours.” His teal blue wool cap made his eyes seem as blue as a summer’s dream.
“Okay,” Beth agreed, sitting next to him. The leather of the skates was stiff and cold against her socked feet. She’d only begun to work the lace between the metal hooks when Sonny knelt to help her, completing the task with swift, practiced movements.
“Now,” he said, holding out his hand. “Let’s teach you to skate.”
Everyone else was already on the ice, twirling past in a carousel of color. Merle and Bobbie glided along arm in arm, legs swinging together like a pair of pendulums. Sonny’s sister, Suze, his brother, Mark, and Mark’s girlfriend, Barbie, raced, screaming with glee, arms pumping, legs scissoring, toward the far end of the pond, while Robin, graceful as a ballerina, wove a figure eight in a stunning arabesque, her arms extended wide like wings. Her long blond hair hung in a thick braid down the back of the gorgeous handmade wool sweater, sprinkled with white snowflakes, matching a blue wool hat. Her tall, slender perfection seemed lifted from a music box.
If Robin was Snow White, Beth felt like the Eighth Dwarf as she toddled, hanging on to Sonny, her balance precipitous, her legs weak, her ankles threatening to buckle.
“Like this.” Sonny left her to stand alone while he demonstrated the technique of gliding.
Beth tried to mimic him. She staggered and flailed like a female Charlie Chaplin. Sonny put his hand on her waist, took her other hand in his, and slowly brought her along the ice with steady, even steps. Ignoring the way the wind shoved her backward, defying her quivering ankles, she concentrated on the rhythm Sonny was attempting to show her. To her delight, gradually the separate parts of her feet, legs, pelvis, and shoulders warmed into a kind of unity as she relaxed into Sonny’s lead.
“Good!” Sonny encouraged. “You’re doing great!”
She smiled up at him, stumbled, and almost took a tumble.
He righted her, steadied her. “You just hit a bump. We all do.”
Concentrating so hard she bit her lip, Beth started over. Push, glide, push, glide.
“Look, we’ve done a circuit of the pond!” Sonny held her as they coasted past the tree where she’d put on her skates. “Want to try it by yourself?”
“Okay.” Terrified but determined, Beth relinquished Sonny’s support and lurched away, feeling as coordinated as Keith Richards on a good night. Bobbie and Merle sped past her, giving her the thumbs-up. From the corner of her eye, she saw Robin going into an Olympic-class spin, bringing her arms into her chest as she whirled, ice spurting from her slicing skat
es.
Focus, Beth commanded herself. Her torso jerked back and forth as she struggled to remain upright, but her legs seemed to have achieved a regular pace, and she felt her entire body soften just a little as she began to skim, faster and faster, over the ice.
Now that she was moving, she realized she had no idea how to stop.
Sonny flew past her with the bulky speed of a hockey jock. Robin floated past her, grace incarnate. Beth tried to slow down, but somehow it just wasn’t working. Legs locked together in a fearful paralysis, Beth rushed along toward the far end of the pond at a speed that made her breathless. She wasn’t certain she could negotiate the turn. Perhaps she shouldn’t even try. The snow piled along the border of the pond looked soft enough to make a safe landing spot. Then she saw the gray of protruding sticks and rocks and fear gripped her chest.
Suddenly she felt an arm around her waist. Sonny’s mother took her hand and steadied her as they looped around the end and headed back.
“I’ll show you how to stop,” Bobbie said. “Watch me.” She whipped off, checking over her shoulder to be sure Beth was watching, then executed an elegant maneuver, pointing the toe of one skate down into the ice, bringing her body to a halt.
She did it a few more times, then skated back to Beth. “Take my hand. I’ll help you.”
Beth wanted to trust Sonny’s mother—she had no choice right now. She clamped on to Bobbie’s hand.
“First, we’ll slow down. Good. Then we’ll draw our skates in toward one another. Good.” Bobbie skated backward, weaving her feet in and out, slowing their speed.
Beth tried to duplicate Bobbie’s movements, but when her feet dug into the ice, her upper body kept going forward. Suddenly Bobbie pulled Beth forward, then jerked her hand away fast, and in that unexpected release, Beth fell with a bone-shuddering crash onto her bum.
“Oh, dear, are you all right?” Bobbie asked, her dark blue eyes dancing with laughter.
Everyone else skated up to her, laughing. Beth didn’t know which hurt more, her butt or her pride.