The Beach Quilt

by Holly Chamberlin

  Adelaide sat at her desk. She had been thinking about how at the gifting of the quilt Cindy had told Sarah that she was proud of her. Adelaide had been touched, but at the same time, she had felt a pang of intense jealousy in the presence of that warm, nurturing relationship.

  She wondered now if her own mother had ever been proud of her, even before her “big mistake.” She couldn’t remember her mother ever praising her for anything—getting good grades, keeping a clean room, making the basketball team. But maybe her mother had praised her. Memory was a notoriously tricky thing. Maybe, after the pregnancy, and her mother’s insistence that she “get rid of” the baby, Adelaide had obliterated any memories of her mother having been supportive and encouraging.

  Maybe.

  Adelaide took out a pen and a yellow legal pad (yes, she still used her handwriting skills). She thought she might draft a letter to her mother, expressing what she felt about that toxic e-mail. She wasn’t sure it was something she would ever send, but she felt that the process of putting her feelings on paper might help her achieve some peace of mind. Certainly, Adelaide didn’t expect anything in her relationship with Nancy Morgan to actually change.

  Unless, of course, she decided to cut all ties with her mother.

  The idea had never occurred to her before. But, why not? As it was, the relationship was an empty husk, kept up as a matter of form. At least, that’s how it felt on Adelaide’s end and she suspected her mother would agree.

  But there was her father to consider. How would a final rift between his wife and his daughter affect him? Adelaide was certain her mother would forbid her father to contact her. And she didn’t see him having the nerve or the energy to fight for a private relationship with his daughter.

  What would Jack say to such an idea? Even though he was her fierce supporter, he would probably advise against such a dramatic option.

  And what would Cindy say? Cindy didn’t know about Nancy Morgan’s last e-mail. In spite of how Adelaide felt about her mother, she still felt bound by the ancient commandment to honor her. There was a limit to the critical things she could reveal about her mother to anyone other than her husband.

  So, knowing only the little she did, Cindy would probably point out that Adelaide’s parents were geriatric and might not have that much longer to live. How would Adelaide feel when they died? she would ask. The regret at having abandoned the relationship might be unbearable.

  Yes, Adelaide countered to the imagined voice of her friend. There was such a thing as filial duty, but how did you determine when a person was no longer worth your time and respect ?

  But cutting off a relationship entirely, even one that had been diseased for years, was not an easy thing to do. There might even be cases in which it was the wrong thing to do and this case, Adelaide’s, might be one of them. It was hard to know for sure. After all, what had her mother done to her that was so wrong except to be her particular self?

  Suddenly, Adelaide began to write. She only stopped twenty minutes later when her hand was so cramped around the pen she had to use the other hand to release it.

  She felt as if she had done something good. Still, she would not send the letter. She had rushed into telling Cordelia about the long-ago adoption, and the revelation had been painful for Cordelia to bear. She knew now to be more cautious. Words could not be unspoken or unwritten. They could only be suffered.

  Adelaide folded the sheet of paper, put it in an envelope, and slid it into the top drawer of her desk. She suddenly felt like watching that Red Sox game.

  Chapter 112

  Joe was fast asleep. Cindy, however, was awake. A book lay unopened beside her as she thought back on what had been a very special and memorable day.

  She and Stevie had helped Sarah pack a bag for the hospital. Clarissa had also helped. She had climbed into and out of the bag after each item was placed within.

  “She wants her scent on everything,” Stevie had explained. “She doesn’t want you to feel lonely in the hospital. And she doesn’t want you to forget her.”

  Sarah had laughed. “As if I could ever forget Clarissa for even one minute! I’ve never known such a small creature to make such a big impression.”

  Much of what Cindy had decided to pack might prove unnecessary, but she wanted Sarah to feel prepared and as at home as possible. A new cotton nightgown (though she would mostly be wearing a johnny), her slippers (the hospital would probably have her use their own socks with treads), a book (she probably wouldn’t have time to read), a few hair bands (okay, those always came in handy), basic toiletries (the hospital would supply those, as well), and a bag of the cashew turtles from Harbor Candy that Sarah loved so much.

  The process of packing had been a bittersweet experience for Cindy. Her daughter would be leaving the house a child and coming back a parent. That transformation seemed—revolutionary.

  When the bag was packed, the three of them had made ice-cream sundaes. After a small bowl of vanilla ice cream, Clarissa had chased a plastic straw around the kitchen floor until it disappeared under the fridge.

  Cindy smiled into the darkened room. If anyone asked for her definition of happiness, she would say that happiness meant being right here at home in this house on Maple Road with her children and her husband. And in a few days, that definition of happiness would expand to include a home that included her grandson.

  Joe mumbled. Cindy turned out the light and lay down. She rested her hand on her husband’s arm and drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter 113

  “This could be it,” Cordelia said. “The big day.”

  She and her mother had just opened The Busy Bee. The air conditioner hadn’t had time to cool the shop yet, and Cordelia was fanning her face with a flyer left by a member of one of the local summer theater troupes.

  “Yes,” her mother said. “Sarah’s doctor thinks she’s ready.”

  “What do you think we should do?”

  Her mother laughed. “What can we do?”

  Cordelia shrugged. She wasn’t the praying type—her family only went to church at Christmas—but maybe she could try to say a prayer for everything to go well. Um, God, she said silently. Please be with Sarah today. Let everything turn out okay. And please let little Henry be okay, too.

  And then, in typical Cordelia fashion, her mind switched its attention from Sarah, Henry, and God and landed on jewelry.

  “Mom?” she said. “Did you ever consider selling some jewelry at the shop? I mean, beach glass stuff, necklaces, earrings? Beach glass is really popular.”

  “True, but it’s not really our brand, is it?”

  “But we sell other gifts,” Cordelia pointed out, “like the soaps and the balsam cushions. And lots of local people make beach glass jewelry, and locally made stuff is an attraction. People think it’s more genuine or something.”

  “You’re right,” her mother admitted. “I suppose we could give it a try. Maybe I’ll see about buying a small supply for next summer.”

  “Cool. I could model the jewelry while I’m here.”

  Adelaide laughed. “Ah, so is that your ulterior motive? Free jewelry?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t keep it! Remember when we were in Boston last year, and we went to the mall at Copley Place and I dragged you into that shop called Landau?”

  “I do remember being dragged, yes.”

  “Remember how the saleswoman was wearing a bunch of the products? It’s a very effective sales tool. If I’d had the money, I would have bought out the shop!”

  “Well, it’s a good thing you didn’t have the money,” her mother said. “As I recall, there were some pretty expensive items in those cases.”

  “Gorgeous items! Those rings!”

  The store phone rang then and Adelaide hurried to the little office/kitchen space in back. Half a moment later, she had returned.

  “Who was it?” Cordelia asked. “Was it them?”

  Her mother smiled. “That was Mrs. Bauer. They’re taking Sarah to the ho
spital! Boy, that girl is punctual!”

  “Oh my God,” Cordelia cried, “let’s go right now! Come on!”

  “Wait, Cordelia. There’s no need to rush. Cindy says Sarah still has some way to go. It could be hours and hours before the baby comes.”

  “But—”

  “But it will be much nicer to wait here at the shop than at the hospital. Trust me.”

  Cordelia frowned. “All right. But I’m not going to be able to do anything but worry in the meantime.”

  “Try not to worry. Sarah will be in good hands.”

  Cordelia burst out crying. “I’m just so happy and excited and scared and, and I don’t know what!”

  The bell above the door tinkled, and a customer came in to find Cordelia bawling.

  “My best friend just went into labor!” she cried.

  The woman seemed a bit taken aback. “Oh,” she said, after a moment. “How wonderful. I wish her the best.”

  Cordelia nodded and ran to the kitchen from where she could hear her mother smoothly making a sale.

  Chapter 114

  The Bauer family was on its way to the hospital. Clarissa had seen the family off with a rousing chorus of meows. When Sarah had settled in the backseat, her mother next to her and Stevie in the front seat with her father, she had turned to see Clarissa sitting in the living room window, watching them, her eyes wide and serious.

  “Are you okay, Sarah?” her mother asked now, squeezing her hand.

  “I’m fine,” she said. “I just can’t wait to meet Henry. I just feel so happy!”

  “And I can’t wait to meet my grandson. I wonder if he’ll call me Grandma or Nana. Well, I guess that’s up to us, right?”

  “Grandma,” Sarah said. “That’s what you’ll be. And Dad will be Grandpa. And Stevie will be Aunt Stevie.”

  “This is the last time it’ll just be the four of us,” Stevie said suddenly. “Right here in this car, the very last time.”

  Sarah thought her sister sounded a bit sad. Maybe nostalgic was the better word. Well, she could understand Stevie’s mood. In some ways, a new child in the house would have a bigger effect on Stevie than on anyone else.

  “It will be better when there are five of us,” Cindy replied firmly. “I’m sure of it.”

  “Six if you count Miss Clarissa,” Sarah’s father said.

  “I count her,” Stevie said.

  “Me too, Stevie. Mom,” Sarah asked. “Did you call the Kanes?”

  “Before we left the house. Adelaide and Cordelia were at the shop.”

  “I can just imagine Cordelia! She’s probably jumping up and down and driving her mother mad with questions she has no way of answering.”

  Sarah’s mother laughed. “And begging to go to the hospital right this minute!”

  Sarah smiled and looked out of the window. They were passing the Applewood Farm Stand and a bit farther along the road Sarah could see the veritable wall of lilac bushes that marked the edge of Mr. Chapel’s property. At this time of the year, they were past flowering but they were still lovely. And there was Kountry Korner Antiques, which, in spite of the silly spelling of its name, was chock full of authentic and interesting items, and then there was the Barrys’ lush pasture where there were always a few horses grazing. All landmarks Sarah had known since she was small. They were precious to her in a way she could never quite put into words.

  And in a day or two she would pass these landmarks again, but this time with her son. He wouldn’t be able to see the farm stand and the horses yet, but she would tell him they were there and promise to introduce him to the world that would soon be his. She was so, so happy that her mother had refused to let her consider an adoption. She was so, so happy to be having this baby.

  This is the most important thing I have ever done, she said to herself. Maybe the most important thing I’ll ever do. Don’t forget one moment. Don’t ever forget!

  “Almost there, Sarah,” her mother said, taking her hand.

  “Good. Because—oh! Ow! Boy, that hurt.”

  “There’s the sign for the hospital!” Stevie looked over her shoulder. “You’ll be okay, Sarah.”

  Sarah smiled through another contraction. “I know I’ll be okay,” she said. “I have my family with me.”

  Chapter 115

  They were in the kitchen making dinner. Correction. Adelaide, as usual, was doing the prep work, chopping, slicing, and defrosting. Cordelia was pacing the floor and being generally anxiety ridden.

  “Why haven’t we heard anything yet?” Cordelia asked for what had to be the fifth time in so many minutes.

  Adelaide was wondering as well. There had been no word from Cindy or from Joe since that one call around nine that morning. “I don’t know, but I’m sure everything is fine,” she said, with an assurance she didn’t quite feel. “Try to be patient.”

  “I’m just saying, it’s been almost nine hours since Mrs. Bauer called to say they were going to the hospital.”

  “A woman can be in labor for days, Cordelia. You know that. Worrying about Sarah isn’t going to help the process along.”

  “But what kind of friend would I be if I wasn’t freaking out?”

  She had a point, Adelaide thought. “Okay,” she said. “Worry if you have to worry. I’ll try to be calm for the both of us.”

  “Are you sure we can’t call the hospital and ask them what’s happening?”

  “I doubt anyone would tell us anything, Cordelia. We’re not technically family.”

  Cordelia fell into a chair at the table and crossed her arms across her chest. “It’s not fair. We’re as close as family. Maybe closer!”

  The phone rang at that moment, saving Adelaide from having to confront the fraught topic of familial relationships.

  “It’s them!” Cordelia cried, leaping from her chair. “It’s got to be!”

  God, Adelaide thought, I hope so. She wiped her hands on a towel and reached for the receiver.

  “Hello?” she said. She was aware of the mixture of fear and excitement in her voice.

  She listened to Joe Bauer. She did not blink or frown or put her hand to her heart. She did not say a word.

  “What, what, what?” Cordelia hissed, tugging at her arm. “Is everything okay? Can we go to the hospital now?”

  Adelaide slowly replaced the receiver.

  “Mom? Mom, I’m getting a weird feeling! What is it?”

  “That was Mr. Bauer,” Adelaide said, her voice barely above a whisper.

  “And? Is everything okay?”

  Adelaide did not reply. She did not look at Cordelia as she shrugged out of her grip. She walked to the door of the kitchen. “Jack!” she shouted. “Jack, come downstairs, quickly, please!”

  Behind her, Cordelia was still saying plaintively, “Mom? Mom, what? What happened? Say something!”

  Adelaide didn’t move or speak again until her husband arrived a moment later. And then she fell heavily against him.

  He stumbled backward with the suddenness of her collapse. “My God, Adelaide,” he cried, grasping her tightly. “What’s wrong? Are you sick?”

  She opened her mouth and closed it again. The words, those dreaded words, threatened to choke her.

  “Mom, what is it?” Cordelia shouted from across the room. “Mom!”

  With supreme effort, Adelaide opened her mouth again. “Sarah,” she said, her voice harsh, “is gone.”

  Jack tightened his grip on her. “What?” he demanded.

  “She . . . she died. The baby is fine. But Sarah . . .”

  Behind them, Cordelia screamed. And then she began to sob.

  An animallike wail came from Adelaide then, a cry of pure pain. “Jack! Oh, God, Jack!”

  She could hear Cordelia rushing across the kitchen, and a moment later felt her crash into them. Jack clasped his wife and his daughter tightly in his arms. Adelaide heard him begin to cry.

  Chapter 116

  Cindy was alone in the room. She stood at a distance from the bed on
which Sarah lay, covered by a thin white sheet.

  In the space of a moment, Cindy thought, feeling her brain struggle to break free of the shock. In the space of a moment, everything could be lost. In the space of a moment, every plan you had made, large or small, every bit of the future you had looked forward to, from the next moment to the next ten years, could be entirely irrelevant.

  Cindy took a step closer to the bed and shuddered. If only disbelief were strong enough to reverse the truth, she thought. If only I could say, “I don’t believe that my daughter is dead” and then, she would not be dead.

  But that wasn’t the way the world worked, not at all. Sarah almost—almost—looked as if she was sleeping, but she was not. This was only the shell of Sarah, her face pale and her hair damp, the plastic identification tag around her thin wrist, her poor body still swollen with evidence of the great thing she had just accomplished—and of the awful thing she had just endured.

  Cindy took another step closer and leaned over her daughter. Gently, as if Sarah could still feel her mother’s embrace, she put her arms around her and laid her head against Sarah’s. If only the two of them could stay there forever. And why not? What was there to live for now? Her oldest surviving child, the child upon whom she had lavished so much love, the child from whom so much good was expected, was gone.

  “Mrs. Bauer?”

  The voice came from behind her. Cindy hadn’t heard anyone come into the room.

  “Are you all right?” the woman asked, her voice hushed. “Can I get you some water?”

  With a sob, Cindy released her child and turned away from the bed. She shook her head. “No,” she said, her voice rough. “I need to go to my family.”

  The nurse gently took Cindy’s arm and led her from the room. Cindy did not look back. In a small, private waiting room down the hall, Joe and Stevie were waiting. The nurse left them alone. For a while, the grieving family stood with their arms around each other, their heads pressed together. Finally, Cindy sighed and pulled away a bit.