Strawberry Lace

by Amy Belding Brown

  “You’re saying I should give up my inheritance and go back to Africa.”

  “I’m saying you have to give yourself that choice.”

  “It’s not that simple,” he said softly. “Though I wish to God it were.”

  They sat for another long interval in silence. Chelsea noticed that small patches of sun were flecking the water. She lifted her arms slowly to massage the back of her neck. “I can’t believe everything that’s happened today. I’m afraid I just can’t absorb it all: being stranded here, the baby’s birth, your mother’s illness.”

  “Give it time,” he said gently. “ ‘Time is man’s angel.’ ”

  “I like that. Another one of your quotes?”

  “Von Schiller. Pretty obscure, but one of my personal favorites. It’s helped me through a lot of rough spots.” He reached to take her hand. The gesture seemed so natural and appropriate to the moment, she didn’t even consider its implications. They sat side by side in the growing sunlight, watching the play of light on the waves.

  The fog had disappeared completely by four o’clock that afternoon, leaving a clear blue sky in its wake. Chelsea watched for Chelsea’s Choice from the porch, while Jeff checked on Lori and the baby. When the boat finally came chugging into the cove, she ran down to the beach, waving both arms excitedly. She could see both Stuart and Paul waving from the deck. She was glad Stuart had thought to bring Paul; Lori’s husband was extremely protective and would need to see for himself that Lori and the baby were all right.

  They came quickly into shore in an inflatable raft, and Chelsea greeted them both with enthusiastic hugs, then led them to the house. Lori was still lying on the mattress, propped up on a collection of pillows and blankets that Muriel had found; she was holding the baby in the crook of her left arm, gazing down at him tenderly. The fire had warmed the room, and the gentle glow of the firelight was playing over Lori’s beautiful face. When she looked up and saw Paul, she gave a little cry of delight.

  “Let’s leave them alone for a few minutes,” Jeff suggested, helping Muriel to her feet and guiding her out onto the porch. Chelsea followed with Stuart, who looped an arm possessively around her shoulder.

  “You won’t believe how worried I was,” he told her. “When that storm broke, I called the Coast Guard to find out if it would be safe to make a run for it, and they told me to stay put. I felt so helpless! All I could do was pray you two would be okay. Of course, if I’d known Lori was in labor, I’d have come anyway.”

  “We were fine, thanks to Jeff,” Chelsea assured him.

  “Well, I guess I can’t hate the guy then, can I?” His hand still around her shoulder, he steered her over to where Jeff and Muriel were seated. “Hey, Jeff, thanks a lot for everything.” He held out his hand. “Looks like you saved the day around here. Wish there was some way I could repay you.”

  Jeff smiled. “No need, my friend. Delivering a baby safely is its own reward.”

  “Well, I want you to know how much Chelsea and I appreciate it. That baby is about to become my nephew, you know.” He squeezed Chelsea a little tighter against his side. “Tell you what, why don’t you come to our wedding? Two o’clock on Sunday, the twenty-third. It’s not going to be anything fancy, but there’ll be good food, I guarantee. There always is when Chels is around.”

  Jeff frowned. “I’m not at all sure—”

  “No, we insist. Don’t we, Chels?”

  Chelsea cringed inwardly. Stuart was grinning broadly, proud of his burst of inspiration. He obviously thought he was doing Jeff a huge favor by inviting him to the wedding. “Sure,” she said weakly, unable to meet Jeff’s eyes. “We’d love to have both you and your mother come.”

  “Well, thanks for the invitation. We’ll certainly consider it.”

  She knew he was looking at her and that she couldn’t keep her face averted any longer. His gaze drew her, forced her eyes upward. She felt her heart clench as her eyes met his. For she saw something there she’d never seen before: a stark, open pain. A pain that mirrored her own.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Stuart opened the Chelsea’s throttle all the way up on the trip back to the mainland, and by seven o’clock Lori and the baby were resting comfortably in the maternity wing of the Maine Medical Center. Chelsea called her mother and told her the good news.

  “It turns out that Lori’s doctor miscalculated her due date by almost three weeks. The baby’s not premature at all. He’s almost eight pounds.”

  “Who does he look like?”

  “Himself. He’s really cute. Light hair, a sweet little chin. I think he might have Paul’s nose. They’re naming him Andrew Jefferson. Andrew after Dad.”

  “Where did they get the Jefferson?”

  Chelsea laughed. “It’s a long story, Mom. I’ll let Lori explain the whole thing when you see her.” She hung up, grinning, and went back down the hall to Lori’s room.

  Stuart was deep in a Red Sox conversation with Paul, so Chelsea sat with Lori for a while and they admired the baby together.

  “How do you feel?”

  “Wonderful. Thrilled.” Lori grinned and patted her stomach. “A little empty, though.”

  “That must be a relief.”

  “It sure is.”

  “Do you think you’ll be back on your feet for the wedding? I want you there as my matron of honor.”

  “Don’t worry, Chels. I’ll be ready. If you are.”

  Chelsea frowned. “Don’t start, sis.”

  Lori shook her head. “I just want you to be really sure.”

  “I am.”

  “When is Holly coming?”

  “I’m not sure of the exact day. I haven’t had a chance to talk with her; we keep communicating by answering machine.” Chelsea was suddenly aware of a strange, empty feeling herself. As if something had just been snatched away from her. “Things have been just a little too crazy lately.” She forced a laugh.

  “That’s an understatement,” Lori replied.

  “I’ll call her tonight. I want to tell her about my new nephew.”

  “Say hi for me.” Lori yawned widely and smiled down at the baby.

  “We should let you get some sleep.” Chelsea glanced at Stuart. “How about if you guys put a lid on the baseball talk? Lori needs her rest.”

  It was dark when Stuart took Chelsea back to his house to pick up her car.

  “I’m totally wiped,” she said, slumping back in the truck seat as he pulled up in front of his cabin. The halogen light mounted on his roof lit the inside of the truck with a purple tinge. “Bed is going to feel unbelievably good tonight.”

  He slid over next to her and put his arm around her. “After what happened this morning, I don’t want to let you out of my sight. Why don’t you stay the night? We are engaged, after all.” He drew her closer, nuzzled her cheek. “What do you say, Chels? Isn’t it time we slept together?”

  She smiled into his eyes, which were too close to bring into focus. “Actually, I was thinking the same thing this afternoon. I just hope you won’t feel insulted if I fall asleep in the middle of things. I’m so tired tonight, I can hardly keep my eyes open.”

  “Hey, we don’t have to do anything. Just be together. Hold each other through the night.”

  “Sounds nice,” Chelsea murmured. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the sensation of Stuart’s lips on hers. They were warm and pleasantly soft. She pressed closer, so that she could experience the hardness of his teeth, draw the musk of his breath into her lungs. She felt so sheltered and safe in his arms. There was no one in the world with whom she felt more secure. Stuart was the man she loved, the man with whom she was going to spend the rest of her life. She waited expectantly for a yearning throb of arousal. But there was nothing.

  It was just fatigue, she told herself as Stuart’s kisses moved from her mouth to her neck, and his fingers opened the top two buttons of her blouse. She heard him whisper her name as he slid his hand inside her bra to cup her breast. She waited for th
e erotic shock to startle her, the way it had when Jeff had touched her. But again there was nothing. Only the familiar comfort of Stuart’s hand.

  Tears of frustration stung her eyes. What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she feel passion for Stuart? He was the nicest man in the world. She tried again to summon the arousal she longed for, concentrating all her will on the effort. But her body would not respond. And deep within, a voice told her that the reason had nothing to do with her fatigue. It was something far more profound, something that would have far-reaching and harmful consequences in their marriage. The critical element of passion was missing. And, try as she might to invoke it, it would never be there. She and Stuart had a deep and abiding friendship, but that was all the relationship would ever be.

  Suddenly, she remembered the words she’d spoken to Jeff on the beach at Eagle Island. She could almost hear them as Stuart’s lips claimed hers once again. You can’t always accommodate the wishes of the people you love. Even though you might want to more than anything in the world. Sometimes you just have to be true to your own dreams. She realized with a shock that the words applied to her, perhaps even more than they applied to Jeff. Because the reason she’d accepted Stuart’s proposal didn’t have anything to do with her own dreams. It had to do with her fondness for him, her desire to please this man who had been her dear friend for so many years. She placed her hands on Stuart’s chest and gently drew away.

  “What’s wrong?” He was frowning in bewilderment.

  She touched his cheek. “Stuart,” she said in a choked voice. “I’m so sorry. But I can’t go through with the wedding.”

  “What! Why not?”

  “I just can’t.”

  His frown deepened toward pain. “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s not you, Stuart. You’re a wonderful, sensitive man. It’s me. It’s just not right for me.”

  He did exactly what she dreaded, what she prayed he wouldn’t do; his eyes filled with tears and he buried his face in his hands.

  She put her hand on his arm. “Please don’t. I know this seems cruel, and you probably think I’m being very unkind, but I don’t know what else to do, Stuart. It would be worse if I married you when I don’t . . .” She couldn’t finish.

  He lifted his head to look at her. “When you don’t love me?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “I do love you. Very much. But I love you like a friend. Like a brother. Not the way a wife should love a husband.”

  He was silent for a long time. When he finally spoke, his voice was sad, muffled as if by distance. “I kept hoping that something would change. When you agreed to get married, I thought maybe it had.”

  “I wish it had, Stuart. I wish to God it had. I can’t bear the thought of hurting you.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I’m so sorry.”

  There was a long silence. They sat motionless in the dimly lit truck cab.

  “When did you figure all this out?” Stuart asked softly.

  “Just now. But I think it’s been coming for the past couple of weeks.”

  “Since you met Jeff Blaine.” It was a statement, not a question. She didn’t answer.

  After a while he gave a low, sad chuckle. “You know, it’s funny, but I sensed something when I first met him, that day I walked in and he was treating your knee. It was like there was an electric current flowing between you. I felt left out, excluded.”

  “I’m sorry, Stuart. Honestly.”

  “You shouldn’t apologize for your feelings. Besides, if you and he—”

  “No, it’s nothing like that! I’m not breaking our engagement because of Jeff! He’s not even available. At least not to me. His mother doesn’t approve of me, and he’s very restricted by his social class. Please don’t think my feelings have anything to do with him!”

  “It wouldn’t matter if they did,” he said quietly. “The end result is still the same.” He paused. “I think I must have known unconsciously that this was coming. For some reason, I don’t really feel surprised.”

  “I’m so sorry, Stuart,” she whispered. “If there was any way on earth I could change my feelings, I’d do it in a minute.”

  “I know,” he said gently. “And I’ll be all right. It’ll just take me a little while.” He hesitated and gave her a half smile. “It doesn’t make sense, but what feels worst right now is knowing that my father won’t get his wish. He was really looking forward to our wedding.” His voice caught. “I can’t help thinking that the wedding would have been his last opportunity to see everybody together. The whole family was planning to come. All of his brothers and sisters. Even his cousin from Chicago, the one he fished with as a boy.”

  She put her arms around him, and they embraced for a long time in silence. Leafy shadows from the moonlit windshield swayed over the dashboard. Stars glimmered overhead. In the distance Chelsea could hear the soothing lap of water against the shore.

  “I have an idea,” she said finally. “What if we go ahead with the plans? Keep the date and the time and everything, only instead of our wedding, we’ll make it a get-well party for your father.”

  “A get-well party?”

  She nodded. “We’ll invite all the same people, just tell them to bring a get-well gift instead of a wedding present.” She felt the pain in the center of her chest ease slightly. “It could work, Stuart. It might even help your father recover. They say sometimes that love and laughter are the best medicines.”

  His expression was curious, attentive. “That’s not a bad idea.”

  “It’s a great idea, even if I did think of it myself!” Chelsea grinned. “We’ll invite everybody he knows. We’ll invite the whole town!”

  Stuart laughed. “God, Chels, you’re wonderful. If you’re not going to marry me, at least you have to promise me that we’ll still see each other and still go out on Chelsea’s Choice from time to time.”

  “Are you kidding? You know I love that boat as much as you do.” She hugged him again. “Don’t worry, Stuart. I’ll never stop being your friend, no matter what happens.”

  She called Holly as soon as she got home and told her the change in plans. “But promise me you’ll still come,” she said. “This get-well party is going to be the biggest Maynard Landing’s seen in a long time.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world!” Holly sounded uncharacteristically cheerful. It struck Chelsea that she hadn’t heard that particular tone in her friend’s voice in over two years.

  “Something’s happened, hasn’t it? You sound different.”

  Holly giggled. “I know I should have written, but I’ve been awfully busy.” Her voice lowered to a confiding murmur. “I’ve met somebody, Chels.”

  “A man?”

  “Very definitely.”

  “Well, don’t keep me in suspense.”

  “His name is Martin Rodriguez. He’s the head chef at the Hilton out here. He’s not as good-looking as Brandon, but he’s a lot more open and honest. Actually, he kind of reminds me of Stuart. Sensitive, kind, funny; everything I ever wanted. He’s amazing, Chels.”

  “You’re going to have to bring me a picture when you come.”

  “I can do even better than that. I was hoping you wouldn’t mind if I brought him along.”

  “That would be wonderful! I’m dying to meet him!”

  After another half hour of joyful conversation, Chelsea reluctantly hung up. Holly had agreed to come for the whole week, and both she and Martin would help with the food preparation. She would arrive on the Friday before the party. Chelsea was so happy that she did a wild dance around the living room. As she swooped and twirled past her desk, something fell out of her pocket. She looked down and saw the small white shell Jeff had given her.

  She picked it up, cupping it in her hand. It seemed to glow there, shining in the semidarkness. He had said it was a present, and she’d known he was half joking, but now, gazing down at the delicate shell, she realized that it was indeed a gift, one of the most precious she’d ever receive
d.

  She took it into her bedroom, located a long gold chain in her jewelry box, and threaded it through the little hole in the shell. As she hung it around her neck, tears filled her eyes. She thought of how Jeff had been forced to yield his dreams to the exhausting demands of his mother, of how he had bent his will repeatedly to her need. It was all because he loved her, she knew. But what kind of love was it that killed a person’s dreams?

  The two weeks following the baby’s birth were a whirlwind of activity. Chelsea visited Lori and her new nephew every day, and spent her free time throwing herself into preparations for Dan Potter’s get-well party. The list of guests grew daily, until, at 150 Chelsea insisted that Stuart stop calling people.

  “I’ve never handled more than sixty on my own,” she told him on the phone one warm afternoon. “I’m already going out of my mind, and it’s only Tuesday!”

  “I thought your mother said she’d help fill in for Lori.”

  “She did, but she’s next to useless in the kitchen. She doesn’t know anything about how Strawberry Lace works. I still have to do most of the baking. Holly’s not coming until Friday.”

  “Let me help, then.”

  “You’re going to have to, Stuart. I can’t imagine getting along without you.”

  Friday dawned sunny and warm, a perfect June morning. Chelsea spent the morning making paté and petits fours for Sunday afternoon’s party. Then she dressed in her best blue linen slacks and matching flowered blouse, and drove to Portland, stopping in at Lori’s house on the way to check on how her sister was coping after her return from the hospital. She held Andrew for a few minutes, rocking him in her arms, fascinated by the steady gaze in his slate-colored eyes.

  “I think his eyes are definitely going to be blue,” Lori said. “See how they’re getting lighter around the pupils?”

  Chelsea couldn’t detect any change, but was happy to agree anyway. “Of course he’ll have blue eyes! He’s your son, Lori!”

  “Paul’s too. Don’t you think his ears look just like his father’s?”

  “If you say so. You know them a lot better than I do.”