Summer Beach Reads

by Thayer, Nancy

  “Behind the drainpipe.”

  “Right. She opened the door like always and came in, and looked aghast. She cried, ‘Oh, Vanny!’ ” All at once, Vanessa’s face split into a huge smile. “She had to sort of haul me up and wrestle me out to the bathroom and then out to the car. Really, we both got hysterical laughing. Maud’s so tiny and I’m such a hippo. She drove me to the emergency room. That new carpenter from Rhode Island was there, the one who looks like Johnny Depp, he’d broken his shoulder falling off a roof, but the point is, he is so hot—Maud and I looked at each other and it was just like old times. That connection. Reading each other’s minds.”

  Carley nodded. The tiniest bit of hope trickled through her at the thought that her two best friends might one day be friends again.

  “Maud waited while the doctor saw me. She drove to the pharmacy and got my drugs, and drove me home and stayed with me until she got hold of you.”

  “Why would you call Maud but not Toby? He’s a doctor.”

  “I can’t explain. I suppose it’s irrational. Part of it’s vanity, I guess. Toby left me for another woman. I didn’t want him to see me wounded, incapable, maybe peeing down my leg. I was feeling like such an idiot, falling like that, and Maud’s so funny, I knew she’d turn it into a comic episode.” Vanessa looked down into her tea. “The terrible thing is, I think I’ve missed Maud more than I’ve missed Toby. Maud is more thoughtful than Toby. At least with me.”

  “Do you think you can ever be friends with her again?”

  “Like Las Tres Enchiladas? Please. She did sleep with my husband.”

  “Well, here’s a question. I want to put together a B&B cookbook, and I want Maud to illustrate it. Plus she does come over with her boys sometimes so they can play with Margaret. Would you mind if she’s here when you’re here?”

  “For heaven’s sake, Carley, this is your house! You can do whatever you want. Besides, I hope I’m not going to be here too much longer. My ankle feels better already.”

  “Don’t rush it,” Carley advised her. “I like having a live-in babysitter.”

  “Much good it does when Wyatt’s not even on the island.”

  “It’s all right, Vanessa. I need time to think. We both need time to think.”

  But she couldn’t seem to find the time to think about herself. She had to go through the girls’ wardrobes with them—they were both growing out of their clothes, getting taller. She took care of Vanessa, ran errands, and worked on her cookbook, testing recipes out on her friends and children. She sat down with Maud and brainstormed about how the cookbook should look. She tried to balance her karma by helping at as many community and school events as possible. When the dismal weather allowed, she drove out to Lauren’s several times a week, where she stood shivering outside the ring, watching Cisco ride. She joined Vanessa, whose ankle had healed, for patient, plodding walks—or waddles, as Vanessa called them—on the beach. She shoveled snow.

  In the back of her mind, she was thinking, but nothing had come clear to her yet.

  After two weeks, she phoned Wyatt. He answered immediately.

  “How are you?” she asked, trying to keep her voice light.

  “I’m great. I’m in Stowe, at the Gray Fox Inn, having a nice hot toddy with some friends.”

  Carley heard laughter in the background. Female laughter.

  “Have you been skiing?”

  “Yes. And snowshoeing. It’s phenomenal up here. The air is so clear and clean. Everything sparkles.”

  He didn’t ask how she was. She told him, anyway. “It’s kind of gray here today. We’ve had more snow than usual. The girls have gone sledding a lot. I’m working on a B&B cookbook with Maud.”

  “How’s Vanessa?”

  “She’s just about ready to go back to her house. She’s got to get the nursery set up. Her ankle is pretty much healed.”

  “Half the people sitting around here are in casts,” Wyatt laughed. “We all think we can ski better than we actually can.”

  More female laughter in the background.

  “Wyatt, I miss you.”

  A moment of silence. Then, “I’m glad.”

  “Do you know when you’re coming back?”

  She could almost see him shrug. “Nope. I check in with the office every day and do some business online, but January’s a slow month.”

  As if work were the only magnet pulling him to the island.

  Confused, dissatisfied, even cranky all of a sudden, Carley kept her voice calm. “I’ll phone you again in a few days, okay?”

  “That would be great, Carley.”

  “You can call me, too, you know.”

  “I know.” Now she could hear him smile. “But I like it when you call me.”

  Toward the middle of January, Vanessa decided she was well enough to return to her own house. Carley and the girls helped her move back all the belongings they had been gradually shifting to Carley’s house, and over the next few days, they went back to Vanessa’s to help her set up the nursery. She’d ordered a crib, a changing table, mobiles, car seats, diapers, blankets, and tiny outfits. Carley washed and dried the clothing, and the girls helped her fold it.

  “Oh, Mommy,” Margaret cried, undone by the sight of a little white romper, “can’t you have another baby?”

  Carley laughed. “Not by myself, I can’t.”

  “Then marry Wyatt,” Margaret said in a sensible, even bossy tone.

  “Maybe he doesn’t want to marry Mom,” Cisco told her little sister. “He likes to travel.”

  Astonished, Carley wanted to clutch her daughters by the shoulders and demand whether or not they truly meant what they said. But the girls were so casual about it, so nonchalant. She reminded herself that here, right now, they were focusing on Vanessa and her baby. It wasn’t the time for a serious conversation about Carley and Wyatt and marriage and new babies. The girls were just caught up in a mood; they could change their minds in a flash.

  “Look at this,” she said, holding up a soft, white, fleecy, bunny-rabbit bunting. They all cooed together.

  43

  • • • • •

  Snow fell all through that late January night. When Carley woke, she found the earth sheeted with a brilliant white, diamonds glinting where the sun touched. The temperature had dropped, the wind had died down, but ice glazed the land and streets.

  It was a Saturday. Riding at Lauren’s was canceled. Carley and her daughters were in the kitchen. Carley was serving them big helpings of French toast when the phone rang.

  “Carley? I’m in labor!” Vanessa almost squeaked with eagerness.

  “Oh, Vanessa!” Quickly she counted: this was early, but only about two weeks early. “This is so exciting! Should you call an ambulance?”

  “Oh, heavens no. But maybe you should drive me to the hospital? Ouch. Let’s time this one. Here it goes.”

  Carley watched the second hand on the kitchen clock tick around.

  “Done,” Vanessa said.

  “Fifty-five seconds,” Carley told her. “I’ll come right over. Is everything ready at home? Suitcase packed?”

  “Yes. Should I call my midwife?”

  “Absolutely. And keep timing your contractions. I’m on my way.”

  She was almost dancing with excitement. “Vanny’s having her baby! I’m going to go be with her. Cisco, you’re thirteen now. Can I leave you in charge?”

  Cisco nodded soberly. “Yes, Mommy.”

  “And you won’t torture Margaret, right?”

  “I’ll play dolls with her,” Cisco said, full of sweetness and light.

  “When can we see the baby?” Margaret asked, eyes bright with excitement.

  “Honey, I have no idea. It’s different every time. Maybe ten hours, maybe more. But if the baby isn’t here by this evening, I’ll come home. You have your breakfast, and there’s peanut butter and jelly for lunch and lots of milk and fresh fruit. If you have a problem, call Molly’s mother, okay?”

  “We’ll
be fine, Mom.” Cisco promised. “You should go.”

  “Right,” Carley agreed. “Right.” She needed to get—what? What did she need? She was so thrilled she’d forgotten whether or not she was even dressed.

  She was. She needed only to pull on her boots, grab her keys and coat and gloves, and run to the car.

  Cisco stood at the door, arms folded like a boarding school matron. “Do you have your cell?”

  Carley fished around in her purse. “I do. Thanks for reminding me. I’ll call!”

  She jumped into her car and started the engine with such exuberance it roared.

  At Vanessa’s Carley found the front door unlocked. Vanessa was sitting on a kitchen chair, legs spread, huffing and puffing.

  “My water broke,” she told Carley. “My midwife Kiki says I should go to the hospital.”

  “She’s right.” Carley knelt around Vanessa’s chair, soaking up the fluids with paper towels.

  Vanessa heaved herself up.

  Carley’s senses clicked on to hyperalert. She double-checked the kitchen appliances. Everything was off. She held up Vanessa’s coat while Vanessa struggled into it. She picked up Vanessa’s bag. She held on to Vanessa’s arm while she made certain the front door was shut and locked.

  As they waded through the heavy snow to the car, Carley put her arm around Vanessa’s waist, supporting her, protecting her from a fall. Just before they reached the car, Vanessa crouched down, groaning. Carley held on to her until the contraction passed.

  In the car, she hit the heat up to high and flicked her windshield wipers into action. For a few moments, she tried to help Vanessa stretch the seat belt over her girth, but it was impossible, and they both ended up giggling helplessly.

  She drove with great caution to the small hospital on Prospect Street. She used her turn indicator even when there were no other cars on the street. She didn’t go over twenty-five miles an hour. From experience, she knew where potholes hid beneath the snow, and she steered around them. Carley’s nerves were jumping. The Nantucket Cottage Hospital was small, with only nineteen beds and seven physicians, only one a surgeon. In January, some of the physicians were off on vacation. Oh, why was she worried? Vanessa had been attending childbirth classes, and she felt safe and comfortable with Kiki. Besides, Vanessa was a big-boned woman. She would be fine. The baby would be fine. Still, this was an event of great magnitude. Carley thought she’d have to do some deep breathing herself.

  At the hospital, she helped Vanessa into the emergency room where Kiki was waiting with a wheelchair. Carley parked the car in the lot, then raced up the one flight of stairs—the hospital had only two stories—to the maternity ward and into the labor room.

  Kiki was a young woman with flowing red hair, brilliant blue eyes, and the low, even voice of a hypnotist. As Carley bustled around, folding Vanessa’s clothing, Kiki helped Vanessa change into a hospital gown and paper slippers.

  “She’s already six centimeters,” Kiki informed Carley. “She’s moving pretty fast for a primipara.”

  “How long did it take you, Carley?” Vanessa asked. “I forgot.”

  “Cisco took twenty-seven hours. Margaret came screaming out like a freight train.”

  “Don’t sit down,” Kiki advised her. “Walk around. Keep moving. Or if you want to sit, try the rocking chair. It’s comfortable.”

  “Twenty-seven hours?” Vanessa was aghast. “How did you stand it?”

  “It wasn’t all bad. I wanted to have natural childbirth. Gus rubbed my back, helped me breathe. All the things I’m going to do for you.”

  “What time did your contractions start?” Kiki asked.

  Vanessa put her hand on the wall, waited through a contraction, then answered. “I’m not sure, really. All yesterday I thought I had the flu; I heard a stomach flu’s going around the school. I had diarrhea. I couldn’t get comfortable in bed last night. I think they started at midnight, really. But they weren’t consistent or regular. About four a.m., they started coming every four minutes.” She laughed. “I thought, ‘Is this a contraction? What’s all the fuss about?’ ”

  “Is there anyone you want me to call?” Carley asked.

  Clearly Vanessa was thinking of her ex-husband at that moment; her face went soft and sad, and her eyes, just for a moment, were full of regret. “Nope!” When she replied, she did so jauntily. “You’re my man for the day, Carley. Hope you can deal with that.”

  “Las Dos Enchiladas!” Carley joked.

  A contraction squeezed Vanessa and she grimaced. After a while, she said, “That one really hurt.”

  The next few hours passed slowly for Carley, as she watched Vanessa endure the increasingly strong contractions. The time came when Vanessa’s legs shook too hard to support her, so Kiki and Carley helped her into bed. Vanessa lay on her side, absorbed by her labor. Carley rubbed her back. She spooned ice chips into Vanessa’s mouth, which kept going dry from panting.

  When Carley left the warm room to use the bathroom, it was as if she’d stepped out into an enormous universe of sounds and healthy people, and it came back to her with a powerful body memory, how imprisoned she’d felt when in labor, how she couldn’t get away from it for even a moment, how she couldn’t just go for a walk or even think. She had been as much frightened as hopeful.

  Around three in the afternoon, Kiki informed Carley cheerfully, “She’s eight centimeters! Not long to go!”

  “Want me to rub your back some more?” Carley offered.

  Vanessa’s face was blotchy from strain. “No.” Vanessa was standing again, leaning her weight on the side of the bed. This time the sound she made was an animal howl. Her body shuddered.

  Carley went around the bed and stood next to Vanessa, putting a hand on each hip, holding her steady, not unlike the time in high school when she supported a friend while she vomited into the bushes. Vanessa moaned in pain, an extreme noise that pulled at Carley’s own gut, echoes of her own two labors and of the passionate cries of sex.

  Vanessa slumped against the bed as the contraction ended. “I can’t do this anymore. I had no idea it would be like this. I can’t make it.”

  “You’re close, Vanny. You can do it. Your baby’s coming!” Carley felt almost giddy.

  A knock came at the door and Kiki stuck her head in. “Okay, ladies?”

  Kiki checked Vanessa. “Ten centimeters. You’re going to have a baby.”

  Vanessa clutched Carley’s hand and grunted. The grunt turned into a long high wail of pain.

  “I can’t do it!” Vanessa screamed.

  “Vanessa, remember we talked about transition?” Kiki soothed Vanessa’s forehead. “You’re almost through.”

  A nurse came in—Roma Caruso, who had children in school with Carley’s and Maud’s. Vanessa screamed and clutched Carley’s hand hard enough to crack bones.

  Kiki announced, “Here we go.” She crouched beneath Vanessa’s legs, hands up to catch the baby.

  Vanessa began to push. Carley on one side and Roma on the other held Vanessa up as she shuddered and grunted from the depths of her being. Carley’s heart raced, her skin was covered with goose bumps, the hair on the back of her neck stood on end.

  Vanessa roared like a lioness. The baby slid out into Kiki’s waiting hands. The umbilical cord was there, a pumping red rope. Vanessa’s legs trembled. Her teeth chattered. The baby wailed. Kiki cut and clamped the umbilical cord.

  “Help her back to bed,” Kiki ordered. She was busy with the baby, drying him, wiping him off. Roma and Carley hefted a moaning Vanessa up onto the bed. She was still panting. Kiki wrapped the baby in a blanket and put him in Vanessa’s arms.

  Vanessa brought him to her breast, gazing enraptured at his tiny face. “Hello, baby boy, my darling, my own.” Her own face glowed with joy.

  “He’s beautiful.” The miracle of this new life sent shivers through Carley, and an age-old desire streamed through her blood. A baby.

  With trembling hands, Vanessa stroked his limbs. “Look. All
his fingers. All his toes. He’s perfect.” Her eyes were shining. “Carley, I did it!”

  “You did.” Tears blurred Carley’s sight. “He’s an angel.”

  Blotchy-skinned, sweaty-haired, radiant, Vanessa announced, “Paul. His name is Paul.”

  Carley touched his tiny hand. “Hello, Paul.”

  Kiki was pushing on Vanessa’s abdomen.

  “That hurts,” Vanessa complained.

  “We have to get your placenta out,” Kiki told her. “Sometimes it hurts a lot, but not for long. Put him on your breast. Let him nurse. That helps the placenta come out.”

  Vanessa touched her nipple to the baby’s mouth. It took a few moments, but at last he latched on. Roma took over massaging Vanessa’s lower abdomen, pushing down, while Kiki was between Vanessa’s legs.

  The air of the room wavered as if struck by a rainbow. Carley was gently crying as she watched Vanessa with her baby, so tiny, so intensely alive to his new world.

  Then Carley heard Kiki say, in a low, urgent voice, “Get Fegley.”

  “What’s going on?” Carley demanded.

  “The placenta’s being stubborn. Doesn’t want to leave the uterus. It happens. Just a little hitch.”

  Roma rushed off, quickly returning with Dr. Fegley. The physician was dressed in scrubs and a gown tied in the back, a cap over her hair, and goggles hanging around her neck, ready to protect her eyes from blood if necessary. Dr. Fegley pressed Vanessa’s abdomen. She said to Roma, “Start the pitocin.”

  “But the baby’s out,” Carley said.

  “The placenta isn’t.” Kiki gave Carley a look that made her heart drop.

  Roma wheeled the stand with the pitocin bag next to the bed and hooked up the pitocin. She deftly inserted an IV into Vanessa’s wrist. Kiki massaged Vanessa’s abdomen, and Carley could see from the way the midwife’s muscles bunched that she was pressing hard.