*
As the hours wore on, and day became evening, Adam waited. He sat at the head of Carla’s bed, not speaking much, leaving when he should without being asked. Sometimes she would turn to him, speaking a few words or just affirming his presence with her eyes. But in the deepest sense, he knew, Carla was alone.
They gave her ice cubes to suck on for hydration and, to vary this, a Popsicle. By midnight, her contractions were coming quicker and stronger. Her breaths became gasps; her forehead shone with sweat, and her gown was soaked. ‘Go ahead and scream,’ the nurse said. ‘Everyone does.’
But Carla seemed to fight this, as though she believed yielding to her own pain would jeopardize her son’s life. Stein constantly checked the fetal monitor, nodding at the steady heartbeat. When he examined her again, Carla did not object to Adam’s presence – no doubt because he was positioned to spare her any embarrassment. Over the long night, Stein and his nurse had seemed to accept that he was there as long as Carla wished. At some point, Adam realized he had not eaten. But he did not wish to leave.
Briefly, Carla fell asleep from sheer exhaustion. When the next contraction jolted her awake, she emitted a small cry.
Stein examined her again. ‘You’re dilated to five centimetres, Carla. Time for your epidural.’
A youthful anaesthetist appeared. Introducing himself, he inserted the tube in her lower back, explaining that this would numb her from the waist down. ‘He’s getting closer now,’ Stein told her moments later. ‘I want you to push with each contraction.’
The next one came quickly. Carla thrust her hips beneath the sheet, eyes shut, lips clamped to suppress a cry. ‘Good,’ the doctor encouraged her. ‘Just keep it up.’
‘Easy for you to say,’ Carla complained between gritted teeth. But when her eyes opened again, fixed on the ceiling, Adam could read her fear – not of the pain, but for the son she was struggling to bear.
The nurse wheeled in a baby warmer with blankets. Instinctively, Adam took Carla’s hand, and felt the brief answering pressure of curled fingers.
An hour passed, then another, with almost no sound save the doctor’s instructions, Carla’s thin animal cries of pain. Adam kept holding her hand. After another fierce contraction forced a louder cry from between open lips, she protested, ‘The epidural’s wearing off.’
The doctor checked her yet again. ‘He’s very close now, Carla. I’m going to give you a local, and make a small incision.’
The nurse stood next to him at the foot of the bed. Her face intent, she gave Carla a shot; moments later, the doctor positioned himself on a stool and produced a scalpel. To Adam’s eye, the instrument disappeared; when it appeared again, its edges red, he fell himself wince, his fingers tightening around Carla’s. She did not ask him to leave.
*
Stein reached beneath the blanket. ‘He’s coming now, Carla,’ he said encouragingly. ‘Just keep pushing.’
Another middle-aged woman appeared in the room – the pediatrician, Adam guessed. He felt a fresh surge of dread: even were the baby born alive, so many other things could doom him. Though he had not told Carla, he had scoured the internet to learn about trisomy eighteen. Leaning close to her, he murmured, ‘Do you want me to stay?’
Silent, she squeezed his hand, her face ashen with pain. Another spasm twisted her body.
‘I can see his head,’ Stein said encouragingly. ‘You’re doing great.’
Taut, Adam could not see the baby, could do nothing but clasp Carla’s hand. He felt her grip tighten as she struggled to raise her head, straining to glimpse the son she might be losing. At her feet, the nurse used a syringe to clear the unseen child’s nose and mouth.
‘There’s a shoulder,’ Stein said quickly. ‘One more push.’
Releasing Adam’s hand, Carla thrust her torso upward with both palms, the strain and anxiety showing in her eyes, wide open now, body trembling with the final push. Adam saw the doctor’s gloved hands reach beneath her gown.
‘Please God …’ she implored in a soft, clear voice.
Stein was holding the child now, Adam realized, as the nurse hurriedly swabbed him with a towel. Agonizing seconds passed, and then the doctor held the baby aloft for his mother to see, still connected to the cord inside her.
The newborn was still, Adam saw, a tiny, waxen figure with dark, matted hair. Carla sat bolt upright, rigid with apprehension. Hurriedly, Stein gave the infant a quick slap on the rear.
The baby seemed to shudder, then emitted a brief cry, extending an outstretched arm in protest. Grinning, Stein said, ‘Pretty stoic, this guy.’
He passed the baby to the pediatrician. Placing him on a baby warmer, she told Carla apologetically, ‘I just need to look at him.’
She examined the child closely, then put a stethoscope to his chest. At length the pediatrician smiled. ‘Seems pretty healthy to me,’ she informed the boy’s mother. ‘Good muscle tone, fine skin colour, a strong heartbeat, and a first-rate pair of lungs. Seems like this boy is going be with you for a very long time.’
Carla gazed at her son in wonderment. Suddenly her face broke into an incandescent smile that Adam had never seen before, even as tears began streaming down her face. ‘Lie back down,’ Stein requested gently. ‘I think he wants to meet you.’
Carla complied, her expression serious now. As she held out her arms, Stein placed the baby on her chest. Tentative, she kissed the swirl of dark hair before looking into her son’s brown eyes. ‘Hello, Liam,’ she said softly. ‘I’m your mom.’
Adam felt the dampness on his face, a bond with this woman and her child that left him speechless As though she sensed this, Carla turned, looking gravely into his face. Then she turned to her newborn son again, and all else seemed forgotten.
*
Suffused with joy, Carla saw the child’s hand reaching instinctively toward her face. In that moment, it seemed to her, they were utterly sufficient to each other, and to themselves.
Feeling her son’s touch, she thanked God for the gift of his life, and promised Liam that she would earn it for the rest of her own.
PART FIVE
The Reckoning
Martha’s Vineyard
January–March, 2012
ONE
An hour before Adam would arrive for dinner, Carla Pacelli nursed her son, watching Liam’s dark head bob as he attacked this project with his customary enthusiasm.
Their ritual both warmed and amused her. She was now the host in a symbiotic relationship with a boy who was, at least based on anecdotal evidence, unusually voracious. Of course, he had ground to make up; after all, he had insisted on arriving seven weeks early, and she was glad to see him becoming plumper. But the irregularity of his appetite at odd hours was matched only by the noisiness with which he announced it. It was as though he understood that the pitch-dark of early morning required the lung power to break through his exhausted mother’s narcolepsy.
‘It’s not like I didn’t ask for this,’ she told him. ‘But do you always have to prove that you’re a guy?’ In answer, his mouth clamped down harder. ‘I get the message,’ she reproved him fondly. ‘Everything really is all about you.’
But Liam would not be rushed; she was in their rocking chair for the duration. Over time, she reflected, this stage would pass, and then the next, and the one after that. Though she would miss what was lost, her purpose as a mother was to raise an adult, confident and self-sufficient, without the damage which had wounded Ben or Adam – or her. Liam was a separate being, and she would school herself to let go.
But for many years he would depend on her, and she would be making choices for them both. Which brought her to the puzzle that was Adam Blaine, so compelling yet so troubling.
I’ll do the best I can, she promised the infant tugging at her breast. Of the men in my life, you come first.
*
While Adam got the lobster pot boiling, Carla set the table and lit candles. Over his shoulder, he remarked, ‘I’ve got to say
you’re looking remarkably like your former self.’
Carla smiled. ‘Lots of yoga and floor exercises; I didn’t enjoy my stomach looking like an accordion. Despite my deepening spirituality, my vanity is still intact.’
‘I’m sure Liam doesn’t mind.’ Finishing, he went to the bassinet set near the fireplace to gaze at the infant who, replete, was resting up for the next encounter with his food source. ‘He doesn’t have to do much to be fascinating, does he? He just is.’
‘And a good thing,’ Carla responded wryly. ‘His routine is pretty much limited to intake and evacuation, with moments of staring I choose to interpret as love. The burden of glittering conversation falls on you.’ She lit the last candle. ‘Still, the helpless stage drives home how much Liam depends on me. Including for a childhood that doesn’t give him nightmares.’
Adam glanced at her. ‘No lousy marriage, in other words.’
‘Better no marriage at all. As you and I both know.’
Adam fell silent. Perhaps her remark was gratuitous, Carla thought – she was far from knowing what they wanted from each other. But she felt the need for honesty in a situation so obviously fraught, and Adam might serve best as a caring man for Liam than as something more for her. Contemplating Liam, Adam told the boy, ‘Your mommy says no losers.’
‘Let’s hope that “Mommy”,’ Carla rejoined, ‘develops some talent in that area.’
Returning to the stove, Adam dropped two lobsters in the pot. ‘By the way,’ he remarked, ‘does Liam know that he has an ethnically incongruous name?’
‘Liam Edward Pacelli? If I’d known you cared so much, I’d have asked you to submit a list.’
Adam smiled at this. ‘You might have done worse, I suppose – his middle name could be Milton. But where did “Liam” come from?’
‘My maternal grandfather. I remember him as gentle, though maybe it was merely because he was so old.’
Adam shot her a look. ‘You really are a cynic, aren’t you?’
‘Just warier these days.’
Slicing pads of butter into a cup, Adam placed it in the microwave, then glanced at her sideways. ‘Are we talking about us, by any chance?’
‘Perhaps, as a case study,’ Carla quipped, and then turned to him. ‘Should we be?’
He paused to consider his answer. ‘Ever since Liam showed up, things seem different. Maybe it’s just me.’
Carla served the salad. ‘That you showed up meant the world to me. It also gave me a lot to think about.’
‘Such as?’
She waited for him to bring two lobsters to the table. ‘I know you’re capable of feeling,’ she said gently. ‘But I think your feelings about me are complicated, and you’re not sure what they are.’
Adam sat across from her. ‘And you?’
She gave him a long, level look. ‘It’s not easy for me to trust any man. But you’re often very hard to read. I wonder if the life you chose has made you addicted to danger. And if you’ve ever committed to a relationship, I don’t know about it.’ She paused a moment. ‘So maybe we should talk about Rachel Ravinsky.’
This was the first time she had mentioned Rachel directly. To his credit, Adam did not feign puzzlement. Instead, he made a surgical job of liberating her lobster from its shell. ‘All right,’ he said at length. ‘What would you like to know?’
She tried to compose her thoughts. Among the unspoken things between them was a palpable sexual tension – they had never made love, and Carla could not yet. Finally, she answered, ‘Not whether the two of you shared an experience that we’ve never had – clever girl that I am, I’ve already puzzled that one out. I don’t even blame you that much. But I can’t help wondering where things stand.’
He looked at her seriously, face shadowed in candlelight. ‘You could say we’re in a state of limbo.’
‘So what are we doing, exactly?’ Carla’s voice softened. ‘I don’t expect anything, Adam. I don’t even know what I want. If all you want is to be a caring presence in Liam’s life, I’d be content with that.’
Reaching across the table, he touched her hand. ‘It feels like something more. It’s also clear that we need more time.’
Carla nodded, steeling herself to say the rest. ‘I certainly agree. But if you’re interested in me as a woman, you should figure out what’s happening with Rachel. It’s your privilege to be with her, of course. But I can’t let myself and Liam become part of a competition.’
His eyes held a trace of annoyance. ‘You really didn’t have to tell me that, all right? Because of me, and also because of her.’
‘So she’s waiting?’
‘Perhaps. But I’ve made no claim on her patience.’
Carla gave him a thin smile. ‘If it’s any comfort, I’m guessing you don’t need to.’
‘I wouldn’t know. She’s gone back to Manhattan for a while. It seems she found this housing arrangement a little awkward.’ There was another change in his expression, tentative yet impatient. ‘If we’ve exhausted the fascination of this particular subject, there’s something else I need to tell you.’
‘Such as?’
‘I resigned from the agency this morning. That part of my life is over.’
Astonished, all Carla could do was ask, ‘Why?’
‘Because if I don’t change that, nothing else I do will matter.’
Carla felt emotion thicken her voice. ‘Does this have to do with us?’
Adam looked into her eyes. ‘Not all of it. But without this, anything more would be impossible, wouldn’t it?’
She drew a breath, then reached across the table for his hand. ‘I never could’ve asked that of you.’
Adam’s fingers tightened. ‘I know that. I also know it’s what you need.’
For a moment, she averted her gaze. ‘What will you do now?’
‘Strange as this may sound, try writing. I’ve started working on an article about Afghanistan. Not what I did, or for whom, but what I saw. Most of it is about my translator and his daughter, and what will happen to women once we’re gone. If my “father’s” name helps me place it, then so be it …’
Carla felt herself fighting back tears.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asked softly.
She shook her head in wonder and confusion. ‘I don’t know that anything is. But you’ve just told me you’re changing your whole life. Suddenly, nothing else can decide this for us, but us. And there’s so much we have to deal with.’
Adam gave her a humourless smile. ‘Like Ben, you mean? You’ll be happy to know I’m seeing a competent psychiatrist. No doubt I’ll keep him busy for a while.’
Carla felt hope warring with misery. ‘There’s something else. Something I can’t put off telling you anymore. It’s about that reporter from the Enquirer.’
Adam’s face went blank. The only hint of emotion was a fugitive change in his eyes, quickly gone and impossible to decipher. ‘Amanda Ferris,’ he said flatly.
Carla nodded. ‘Before Liam was born, she came to see me.’
At once Adam’s voice turned cool. ‘You let her in?’
‘I found her sitting in that rocking chair. It was a bad day – I’d just found out that my baby might have trisomy eighteen. Before I could throw her out, she made accusations I can’t just brush aside.’
‘Involving what?’
Carla held his gaze. ‘She claims that Ben was murdered, and that you may know who killed him.’
It was eerie, she thought, how little his face showed. ‘Clever of me, Carla. Given that when he died I was twenty thousand miles away …’
‘Ferris also claims that you broke into the courthouse last summer, stealing documents to help you protect Teddy. She surmises you’ve got the skills to pull that off. I know you do.’
‘Then damn me for telling you anything,’ Adam said sharply. ‘Do you really think that Ted’s a murderer?’
She could not let herself back down, Carla knew. ‘It’s hard to conceive of Teddy killing anyone – even
a man he hated. But you and I both know how much hatred there was between Jack and Ben. And why.’
All at once, she could feel Adam slipping away from her. In a weary monotone, he said, ‘Jack already explained how Ben died. I’d like to keep this poison away from us.’
‘So would I. That’s why I had to tell you.’
‘But you can’t forget about it, can you?’
She gripped his hand. ‘Not without some help from you. I know what scum this woman is. But Ben would never have killed himself, not with me here, and he knew that promontory too well to risk falling. Deep in my soul, I believe that someone killed him.’ Her voice lowered. ‘I’ve always known there are things you haven’t told me. I just don’t know what they are. Can’t you see how hard that makes it to live with your family secrets?’
Adam looked away, a reaction so uncharacteristic that it unsettled her still more. ‘I’d never ask you to. All I can do is hope that someday all this will stop mattering. However pointless the wish.’
Carla could not answer. She almost welcomed Liam’s cries of hunger.
TWO
On a bright, crisp morning, with Liam sated, Carla resumed reading the first draft of Adam’s article.
He had given it to her reluctantly, concerned that his prose would not meet her expectations. But as the pages turned, she read more swiftly, at first surprised, then relieved, then impressed. He wrote with a clarity and humanity, evoking his translator’s daughter so well that it hurt Carla to perceive how the web of ignorance and custom would ensnare her once the Taliban resumed control. It was the best kind of journalism, she thought, capturing a social landscape through the people caught in it. It was something Ben might have done, yet so clearly Adam’s own – more particular, somehow, and more poignant. Then she heard the sharp rap on her door, and went to answer.
Though she would know this woman anywhere, Carla was astonished to find her on the porch – still striking in her mid-sixties, her grey-blond hair perfectly coiffed, her blue eyes clear and cool, her patrician features barely conveying the disdain she was too well mannered to express. Without preface, Clarice Blaine said, ‘May I come in?’
Eden in Winter Page 29