“By all means,” Ellen said with a wave of her hand. “Have at it! Just think: You two may have solved the great kringle mystery!”
Larry high-fived Erin. “We’ll expect a cut of all future proceeds, of course,” he joked.
“Of course. Well,” Ellen said after a beat, “I think I’ll get started on tomorrow’s dough.” She excused herself and pushed through the swinging doors to the kitchen.
“Is she humming?” Larry asked loud enough for her to hear. “Looks like someone’s in a better mood.” True, Ellen had been cranky her first week back at the store. She’d been stuck on Nantucket, thinking about Henry and why she hadn’t heard from him since, and thinking about the half moon they’d seen the night before they left. Lanie said it was a sign. A sign of what? Ellen asked. Of good things to come. At the time, Ellen thought her practical sister had gone loopy. But had Lanie suspected all along, known before even Ellen knew what her own body was home to? Now she wondered: Should she tell Max her news?
Larry had already lugged up the sacks of flour for today’s dough, and she mixed it till it was the right gooey consistency, then dumped it onto the table and added more flour to thicken it. She sunk her hands into the cool dough. Is this what it felt like for the baby inside her? Warm skin surrounded by cozy, soft cushioning? She began the process of rolling out the layers, first dough, then chilled butter. For the past three months she’d been exposing this child to all kinds of things, unaware that he or she was even there. My God, she’d had a wine cooler and beers on Nantucket! She panicked. She’d have to call the doctor; make sure the baby would be okay. But then she calmed herself by thinking of her own mother, who had sunk plenty of martinis when she was pregnant with Lanie—and her sister had turned out just fine. Already this baby had been exposed to plenty of wonderful things: the sounds of Nantucket beaches; the scent of kringle. It had eavesdropped on all her conversations.
Had the baby picked up on the fact that she was dating, if that’s what it was, someone other than his or her daddy?
All her life she’d wanted this, and now here it was. She had been happy for Lanie and Rob, truly, when they announced they were pregnant almost two years ago. But there was also a part of her that screamed Unfair! They’d been trying for only a couple of months, and look how easily they’d been granted a child. She and Lanie never spoke of it, this tipping of the scales in her sister’s direction. Ellen counseled herself that Benjamin was just like a son to her. But now this! To have her very own son or daughter. Something that seemed unthinkable just a few hours ago.
If Max knew, would it change things between them? Not being able to have a baby wasn’t the cause of their split, but still. If Max knew, would he move back? Did she want him to? Did she have an obligation to tell him or was he better off not knowing?
Somehow she just wanted to hold this secret tight to her chest, a book unopened, meant only for her.
“Haven’t made much progress, have you?” Larry interrupted her thoughts as he came through the doors. She looked down and saw that she’d been rolling out the same layer over and over again.
“It seems like you’ve still got a case of vacation brain, boss.”
“I think you’re right.” She set down the rolling pin and wiped her hands on her apron. “You know what? Would you mind taking over for the rest of the day? Finish up the layers and stick them in the fridge to chill overnight? My mind’s off wandering somewhere else.”
He looked at her curiously. “Something you want to tell me? About you and Henry? Like the two of you got engaged, eloped on Nantucket?”
She snorted. “Not even close. I’ve just got a lot on my plate at the moment.”
“Whatever you say, boss.” She could tell he was waiting for her to break some big news. If she didn’t leave immediately, she’d spill the beans.
“Okay then. So you and Erin will be fine till closing?” She asked the question while she was already gathering up her purse.
“Sure.”
• • • •
On the way out, Lanie’s name flashed on her cell. Ellen was seized with a moment of panic. Should she tell? But no, she decided as she picked up, better to tell her the good news in person. She couldn’t wait to see her face.
“Hello?”
“Ellen, thank goodness you answered. Listen, I know this is incredibly short notice but I need a sitter for Benjamin tonight. Is there any chance you could do it?”
She thought for a moment. “Of course.”
“Thank you, thank you. I owe you. I forgot that we have this benefit dinner to go to tonight. It’s for the children’s NICU at the hospital, so I really want to go.”
“Of course,” she echoed again. She felt like a five-year-old trying to keep from telling her best friend that she had a stash of candy in her lunch box.
“If you could come by the house around six thirty that would be great.”
Ellen smiled to think that one day she would be asking Lanie to do the same for her. Before she headed home to change, she stopped at the drugstore and found herself at sea in the vitamin section. Where the heck did they keep prenatal vitamins? The doctor had said she should start them right away. At last she found them on the bottom shelf and was shocked to see the sticker price. When she checked out, she was thankful the cashier was a young high school girl whom she didn’t know.
“For a friend,” she explained nonetheless.
Back at home she showered, and pulled on shorts and a polo shirt. Her shorts felt snug. She hadn’t considered that her belly was going to grow considerably before this baby came. A middle-aged woman in maternity clothes? All the things she had to do before the baby arrived! She certainly had plenty of rooms to spare in the house. Maybe she’d put him in the small corner room next to hers; it got the most sunlight. Yes, that would be an ideal bedroom for a baby. She would paint it in soft yellow hues.
Her hair still damp, she headed out the door with a pear in one hand and her mail in the other, a bundle of bills and magazines. She hoped she’d have some time after Benjamin fell asleep to sort through it all, watch some bad TV.
On the drive over, she decided she couldn’t wait any longer—she had to tell her sister. But when she arrived Lanie was rushing to find her purse, Benjamin was crying, and Rob looked like he’d rather go to a funeral than another benefit dinner. The moment didn’t seem right. She took the baby and bounced him on her knee, singing, “Ride the horsey, don’t fall off!” Benjamin squealed, and it gave her chills to think she’d be doing this with her own child shortly.
It was if she was seeing her godson through new eyes.
On the way out the door, Lanie looked at her. “You all right?”
Was it that obvious? “Sure, why?”
“I don’t know. You look a little flushed.”
“Lingering Nantucket suntan.”
“Lucky you,” she said and kissed Benjamin good-bye before heading down the steps. “I’m back to pale as a peach. See you later, alligator.”
After his parents left, Ellen tried reading to Benjamin but he wasn’t interested. He kept squirming off her lap to wobble over to something more interesting—a stray ball, a piece of fuzz, a paper clip that she snatched from his hands. She was amazed by how quickly he had gone from crawling to full-out drunken-sailor walking. His miniature cargo pants made little swishing noises as he crossed the living room floor.
He hadn’t eaten much of his dinner so Lanie suggested Ellen try again later. She scooted him into his high chair now and laid out the diced chicken, rigatoni, peas, and watermelon. The baby carefully pinched the small pieces between his pointer finger and thumb and held them up, as if he were assessing rare gemstones. Eventually most of his dinner went either into his mouth or onto his shirt. Benjamin’s pediatrician had likened eating to learning a foreign language, and Ellen liked the metaphor. They couldn’t expect a baby to learn the language of food until he had ample exposure and practice. Ellen thought of his pasta as his pronouns, his peas as the mor
e difficult, subjunctive case.
“Je t’aime,” she whispered to him, and he kicked his feet and stuck a finger in his mouth.
How she loved everything about this little boy—his baby smell, his dimpled grin, his big cheeks. He was finally getting some hair, and Lanie had parted it to one side so it looked as if he’d just come from the baby salon. Would hers be a boy as well? Would Benjamin have a little cousin that was just like a brother to him? Would they grow up together, looking out for each other, sharing homework assignments, fighting over stupid things as she and Lanie had?
After dinner, he half-walked, half-ran to the table with her crossword puzzle book and pen on top. Ellen quickly substituted a red crayon and typing paper. She watched him turn the paper, pick it up and look at it, then put it back down again. He did this almost a dozen times, each time leaning over the paper with crayon in hand, as if willing it to write. But touching crayon to paper was trickier than it might look, and try as he might, Benjamin held it suspended just above. Still, he persisted with baby stubbornness, rearranging the white sheet each time. When he tired of it at last and crawled to get a ball, she tried to reassure him.
“That’s okay, baby. You’ll figure it out. It’s not easy, is it?”
Later she changed him into his sleeper, gave him a bottle, laid him down in his crib. He fussed only a little before rolling onto his side, eyes closed, not a worry in the world. She waited until his breathing settled into even exhales. She would need a crib, she thought suddenly. Baby bumpers and pacifiers. A changing table. She should make a list! Her world had tilted on its axis.
Downstairs she poured herself a tall glass of lemonade and collapsed on the couch. No wonder she’d been feeling tired, out of sorts. A baby was growing inside her! She wondered if it liked lemonade or if its lips would pucker in her stomach. She picked up the bundle of catalogs from the day’s mail, most not worthy even of a toss. Then, there between Hearth & Country and a credit card bill was an envelope postmarked “Sint Maarten.” Goosebumps ran across the back of her neck. Did the man no longer trust e-mail?
She undid the letter with her thumb and a thimbleful of sand fell into her lap.
Dear Ellen,
I’m sorry about surprising you at the store—and then again at your front door. I really wanted to see you, but looking back on it now, I understand that wasn’t the best way to do it. I should have given you fare warning that I was in town. Still, I’d be lying if I didn’t say I can’t stop thinking about our night together. You made it quite clear what your future intentions are for me (none), but I’m hoping you’ll reconsider.
I don’t know who this new guy your involved with is, but surely he can’t be treating you right if you take your ex-husband back for a night. Are you really serious about him? In love? Because despite all our troubles, I still feel like your the only person who really understands me and who loves me. As I said in the store, I’m a changed man with a peaceful soul—or as peaceful as it can be while longing for you by my side.
Please, please think about coming to Sint Maarten for a visit and seeing where things go? I promise you’ll love it—and you’ll never want to leave.
With love,
Max
P.S. Enclosed is a little something from the beach and a little something to ease any unexpected expenses.
From a long thin envelope, she pulled out an e-ticket, round-trip to the island, the dates open-ended, her name on top.
Talk about timing. She may not have the key to Henry Moon’s whole heart yet, but getting back into a relationship with Max—and moving to Sint Maarten—was not the answer. Or was it? Was it serendipity that Max’s letter had arrived just now, months after their one-night tryst? Akin to Lanie’s forecasting good things to come when they’d been on Nantucket? Was this a sign that she should go back to Max?
She laughed out loud at the notion. These pregnancy hormones were making her stupid. Still, it was nice to be wanted. By her child’s father no less.
She slipped the letter and ticket into her purse and turned up the volume on the television, pondering stretches of liquid aquamarine, quaint island shops, a baby playing in the sand.
What on earth were she and this child going to do?
“Be glad that your children have enterprise and invention. . . . Do not say, ‘You must keep still. I can’t bear so much noise. Can’t you ever be quiet?’ Rejoice that your children are alive and well.”
—Talks to Mothers
Recently he had begun to crawl into her lap with a book, pointing to the cover, waiting patiently for her to begin. It brought her such joy to see that he knew what a book was, was interested in it, if only for a few minutes. As an infant, he’d watched intently while she turned the pages, reading aloud to him from her favorite childhood stories and pointing to the colorful pictures. Now that he was full-out walking, though, those quiet, cuddly moments had grown fewer and farther between. At fifteen months, life seemed to be all about motion, putting himself and anything he could get his hands on into orbit.
Once a believer that boys were drawn to cars and trucks (and not dolls) because that’s what their parents offered them, Lanie now firmly trusted that there was something inherent in the male genome, an amino acid in the DNA tagged with a little red “truck” flag that made little boys gravitate toward anything with wheels. Benjamin could have an ocean of toys before him and would grab a car every time, making brrm, brrm noises and pulling it across the floor.
He padded confidently these days from one room to another in their downstairs, looping big circles through the living room, sunroom, kitchen, and back to the living room. Each time he returned from a trip he grinned with pride and waved before he was off again. The first week he was fully walking he had tumbled off balance and banged his head. Lanie was sure they were headed to the emergency room, but Rob calmed her. There was no blood. Benjamin was fine, just fine.
“He’s going to fall a hundred times before he’s five,” Rob said. “Get used to it.”
She knew he meant this to be comforting, but instead it just made her want to wrap Benjamin in bubble wrap to protect him from the physical and emotional falls that surely lay ahead. Off they went the next day to the safety aisle of the baby store, where she bought an ungodly number of childproof locks, guards, and bumpers. It would be so much easier, she thought, if they just invented a bumper for the baby. She imagined girl and boy bumpers, decorated with pink flowers and blue soccer balls, and fitted with Velcro straps for their pea-sized waists.
Now she took him to places with wide-open spaces, where a baby could roam happily and fall with abandon—parks, playgrounds, the front yard. He loved the wide aisles of the children’s bookstore, overflowing with beanbag chairs, bead boards, and miniature chairs. She would follow him around as he wove his way in and out of the rows, waving to customers. Walking among the stories of The Very Hungry Caterpillar, Harold and the Purple Crayon, and Leo the Late Bloomer made Lanie hungry to read them once more.
They had just returned from running errands, this Wednesday being the first of her half-days, in service to her new allegiance to slowing down. She had left the office a bit awkwardly, uncertain how to make an early exit. When Hannah cheerfully shooed her out, saying, “See you Monday, boss,” she felt like a truant. “Call if you need anything,” Lanie said hesitantly, “especially these first weeks.” But Hannah was good at putting her in her place: “Go. Don’t come back till next week or I’ll tell.”
Once she was out the door, Lanie felt like a schoolgirl all over again, released early for teacher-conference day. She stepped down the stairs and waited. Waited for the feeling of freedom to sink in. “We did it,” she whispered to herself. It was a little early to make such a pronouncement, of course; it would be a matter of months before she and Rob determined if they could really swing this part-time arrangement financially. But for the moment, she was going to seize the opportunity. Carpe diem.
She picked up the baby from day care and happily explained
her new schedule to the staff. Benjamin surprised them all by insisting he walk out himself. It was the first time she hadn’t carried him out the door during his year at the center. He squiggled down from her grasp and followed confidently behind her before stopping to wave good-bye to his teachers. He could have been an advertisement for the place. Her little guy, so grown up, so proud to be walking out of school. She mentally marked it as one of those turning points in a child’s life. Walks out of day care and waves good-bye. Fifteen months. She would write it in his baby book tonight.
She packed him into the car and they headed over to Audrey’s house on the other side of town. Audrey was among Lanie’s small circle of friends who could understand the topsy-turvy world of a working mom. Her kids, Aiden, Gretchen, and Tom were two, three, and six respectively, and after Aiden was born, Audrey had tossed the law aside to stay home and run a cookie business out of her basement. Now that Lanie found herself with some free time, she’d vowed to reconnect with friends.
When she and Benjamin arrived, he quickly joined Audrey’s kids in the sandbox in the backyard. Lanie planted herself in an Adirondack chair, accepting a welcome glass of iced tea from her friend.
“So, what’s it been? Three months since I last saw you?” Audrey asked. She looked good, slightly tan and more relaxed than Lanie had seen her in years. Her short blond hair had lightened in the summer sun.
“Funny you should ask.” Lanie started to fill her in on everything, on Nantucket, on Rob, on her decision to go part-time.
“Whoa. You know, you can pick up the phone every now and then.”
“I know. I’m sorry—I’ve been a terrible friend. It’s been a crazy summer.”
When she got to her suspicions about Rob’s having an affair and how wrong she’d been, Audrey laughed. “I think that’s par for the course. The other night when I crawled into bed, Chris cuddled up next to me and said, “What’s this?” He turned on the light and voilá! It was pasta—stuck to my nightgown. Naturally, I had to ask him what kind.”
Three Good Things Page 17