by Nancy Thayer
“I’m proud of you, too, girlfriend.”
“Well, I couldn’t have done it without you,” Beth said honestly. “You and Polly and Carolyn—gosh, that role-playing was fabulous! When she called me a ‘conniving little’ “—Beth glanced at Belinda, whose head was bent over her watercolor masterpiece—” ‘witch,’ it didn’t even faze me. I just shot back with all the stuff we’d practiced.” Beth spread her arms wide. “I feel like a new me! The new, improved Beth! The grown-up, capable, dare I say powerful Beth!”
“Congratulations, champ!” Julia toasted her.
Beth checked her watch. “You have to get ready for Agnes, don’t you?”
“Yeah. First, let’s schedule a date to get together with Carolyn and Polly and share some bubbly to celebrate.”
36
On a platter in the oven, the fried chicken was kept warm while Julia stirred the gravy. This was not a meal Julia had prepared before, and she wasn’t thrilled about the fat content her family would be ingesting, but this was Agnes’s favorite meal, and Julia wanted to do it right, even though her stomach churned. Damn, Julia thought, I must be getting an ulcer.
Tim came into the kitchen. “Can I help?” In honor of the occasion, he still wore his suit and Belinda’s favorite tie, covered with flying pigs.
Funny how he always offered to help in the kitchen when Agnes and George were here, Julia thought wryly. “Sure.” She nodded her head toward a pot. “Put the peas in that bowl. The carrots in another bowl, the flowered one.”
She poured the gravy into a gravy boat and carried it to the table. Tim brought in the vegetables and the mashed potatoes. Julia lifted out the warm platter of fried chicken and bore it triumphantly into the dining room, setting it before Agnes.
“This looks very nice,” Agnes mumbled dutifully. Her expression said, I’ll be lucky if it doesn’t choke me.
“Your favorite meal!” Julia said, sliding into her place at the table. She lifted her wineglass. “Happy birthday, Agnes.”
Agnes nodded reluctantly. “Thank you.” I’ll eat it but I won’t enjoy it.
Julia passed the vegetables and rolls to George, while Tim prepared Belinda’s plate, carefully keeping the carrots from touching the chicken, and making a well of mashed potatoes to pour the gravy in.
“How’s the house-hunting going?” Tim asked when everyone’s plate was full.
George was too busy chewing to reply. Clearly he found Julia’s cooking good enough.
“Houses are so expensive here.” Agnes cut into her chicken, inspecting it closely, as if expecting an alien to pop out.
“We like the Realtor, though,” George added cheerfully. “We’ve seen a few places that might do.”
“Nothing as nice as we have,” Agnes muttered. “Nothing with a yard like we have at home.”
Agnes and George’s house in the Berkshires had a large garden. Julia thought George found great comfort in his riding mower and toolshed. “Doesn’t it depend on the suburb?” she asked. “I think the farther you get from Boston, the less expensive land prices are.”
“Oh, right! So we should stay out in the Berkshires!” Agnes snapped. You want us as far away as possible, don’t you, you fiend!
“That’s not what I mean,” Julia hastened to say. “I’m just suggesting you look to the west of the city.”
“Suburbs like Marlborough,” Tim chimed in. “Southborough, Milford, Medway.”
At that, Agnes seemed pacified. The rest of the conversation centered on suburbs and the kind of place George and Agnes would want.
As they talked, Julia glanced at everyone’s plate: Tim and George went through three helpings of everything, and even Belinda ate every bit of her food. Agnes alone refused a second helping and left much of her first untouched.
Julia rose to clear off the table. Tim grabbed some bowls. “Belinda, could you help us, please?” Julia asked.
In the kitchen, Belinda climbed up on a chair. Julia put the cake in front of her, and Tim lit a match and handed it to Belinda, who solemnly touched the flame to the wicks of sixteen candles. Julia wasn’t sure how old Agnes was, so she let Belinda decide the number, and for whatever reason, sixteen was what Belinda had settled on.
“Okay!” Julia whispered. “Tim, turn off the dining room lights.” She lifted Belinda to the floor. “Sure the cake isn’t too heavy for you to carry?”
Belinda shook her head fervently.
“Okay, then.” Julia set the cake in Belinda’s outstretched hands. “Here we go.” She grabbed her digital camera, following behind Belinda, filming their little parade. Tim and Julia started singing “Happy Birthday.”
Tim helped Belinda set the cake on the table. Julia knelt to film Agnes blowing out the candles, then turned on the light. She brought the dessert plates and cake knife to the table and set them before Agnes.
Agnes pulled her granddaughter to her. “Oh, sweetheart, this is the most beautiful cake I’ve ever seen in my life! Did you decorate it?”
Belinda nodded her head.
“Then you deserve the biggest piece!” She sliced into the cake.
Julia returned to the kitchen to start the coffee brewing. Returning, she settled back at the table just as Agnes had finished passing around cake for everyone, and she couldn’t help admiring her creation, the pale yellow cake, tinged to daffodil perfection with food coloring, bits of lemon zest glittering like citrines in the cake and icing.
“Where’s the ice cream?” Agnes inquired.
“Oh, I didn’t think we’d need any, not with this cake,” Julia said, staring down the length of the table at Belinda’s grandmother. “Actually, the recipe book we used said the flavor of this cake is so delicate, it would be overwhelmed by ice cream.”
Agnes put her fork down. She gave her plate a little push away. “I don’t believe I want any, in that case. I don’t like cake without ice cream.”
“Grandmother,” Belinda said in a clear, high voice, each word as distinct as a chime from a bell, “why are you always so mean to Julia?”
Everyone at the table gasped. Julia’s entire body broke out in goose bumps. Tim smiled from ear to ear. Agnes looked as if she’d just swallowed a live frog.
“Belinda,” Agnes quavered when she could find her breath. “Oh, honey, Belinda, you can talk.”
Tim and Julia exchanged terrified glances. Would Belinda continue talking? Had a miracle occurred, or simply a momentary blip?
“I know,” Belinda said matter-of-factly. “I could always talk, in my head.”
Julia thought she might explode with joy. Tim gulped and blew his nose on his napkin. “Well, Belinda,” he said, trying to sound unruffled, “it’s wonderful to hear your voice again. It’s just wonderful.”
“Yes,” Julia said. “And how perfect, to hear you speak on your grandmother’s birthday.”
Agnes choked as if she were being strangled. “Your stepmother’s right, Belinda. This is the best gift anyone could ever give me. Thank you.” Bending forward, she pulled her granddaughter to her in a hug. Then, looking at Julia, she said, “And, Julia, thank you. Thank you for making this amazing cake.”
“You’re welcome,” Julia said. “We made it together, didn’t we, Belinda?”
“Yes,” Belinda said. “We made it together.”
Julia looked around the table at her family. “Well, good golly, Miss Molly.”
——————————
Something awakened Carolyn just after she fell asleep. She lay alone in the king-size bed, not apprehensive, but alert.
Hank was at a brainstorming environmental retreat in the Adirondacks. He’d be there for almost a week, his last major trip. After that, he’d refused all meetings outside a one-hour radius of Boston, so he’d be able to be with Carolyn when the baby came.
As if reading her thoughts, the baby stirred. The invisible drawstring inside her belly pulled and tightened. Braxton-Hicks again, she thought, glancing at the clock. It was only midnight. She’d been asle
ep for perhaps an hour. Grunting like a sow on a National Geographic special, she managed to turn onto her side, pulling a pillow between her legs for support.
Was that a sound? She strained, listening. The house must have mice. No one else was here tonight. Mrs. B. had gone home at five. Her father was still in the Caribbean, visiting with friends, playing golf, recovering from the shock of his costly, inconvenient, abandoned marriage.
Lying on her side was less comfortable than lying on her back. When the contraction came, she couldn’t get her breath. Ouch. It was unrelenting, like a cramp in her foot. She rubbed her sides, trying to ease the constriction.
When she could move, she struggled to the side of the bed and sat up. Panting, she pushed herself to a standing position. She could tell she wouldn’t be able to sleep, not for a while. Well, she’d use this insomnia. The newly revised personnel policy needed reviewing; she’d make a cup of chamomile tea, settle down at the kitchen table, and get some work done.
She headed for the kitchen, turning on lights as she went. As she reached the sink, a contraction gripped her so fiercely she bent in half, clutching the counter.
“Oh, no, no,” she pleaded when she could catch her breath. “Not yet.”
Still, she’d better time these contractions. Lowering herself onto a chair, she sat looking at the clock, waiting. She felt light-headed and faintly queasy.
Four minutes. The contractions were coming every four minutes. So? Certainly they seemed much stronger than the contractions she’d had earlier, but still they probably were false alarms, weren’t they? The baby wasn’t due for a month. What should she do? By now it was one in the morning. She couldn’t phone her doctor or labor coach. She didn’t want to wake them for another false alarm. Oh, God, why wasn’t Hank here? Suddenly, her lonely state frightened her. What if she really was starting labor? How did a woman ever know? The first baby was supposed to be late. How peculiar the body was, to be so uncommunicative to the conscious mind, especially about something as important as this. Perhaps, if she got to work on that personnel policy, it would take her mind off these cramps. Fine, she would do that. She would make herself a cup of tea—she looked over at the stove. No, she hadn’t started the water boiling yet. Her mind was all over the place.
Another contraction. This one hurt so much she heard herself yell.
Think sensibly, she commanded herself when it ended. But she couldn’t. She sat in her own kitchen like a lost refugee in a train station who didn’t know this language. Stop panicking, she told herself. She was an adult, a perfectly capable woman. She’d taken the childbirth prep classes. She might actually be starting labor—perhaps she should get the book and read the chapter on labor again, to compare it with her present state.
She stood up, intending to go find the book, when a contraction clamped itself around her and would not stop.
Call an ambulance, she told herself.
Don’t be such a baby, another part of her mind scolded. Don’t embarrass yourself again!
I’m scared! she thought. I need help! I don’t know what to do!
Her mind said, Call Polly.
——————————
It took Polly thirty minutes to get to Carolyn’s house, which was fine, since it took Carolyn that long to get from her kitchen to the door. Through the leaded glass, Carolyn saw the headlights of Polly’s car flash like a lighthouse beacon, and then Polly was hurrying up the walk, her car coat unbuttoned, flapping like wings.
“Carolyn! This is so exciting!” Polly’s naked face was puffy, her eyes swollen and red, but her smile was genuine. She wore no makeup and had fastened her red curls back in a slapdash ponytail.
“I’m so sorry to get you out of bed in the middle of the night. I’m sure it’s just another false alarm.”
Just then, a warm gush of liquid drenched her legs and feet.
“Okay,” Polly said, “that’s your water breaking. I’m thinking it’s the real thing.”
“Probably—” A contraction almost brought Carolyn to her knees.
Polly grabbed Carolyn by her elbows and supported her as she stood, half-squatting, almost blind with pain.
When it subsided, Polly looked at her watch. “Two sixteen. Is your hospital bag all packed and ready?”
Carolyn nodded. “In the bedroom.”
“I’ll get it. You wait here. If another contraction comes, put your hands against the wall, let the wall support you.” She took off down the corridor, then stopped, turning back. “Have you phoned Hank?”
“Not yet.”
“We’ll do it in the car.” She rushed off.
When Polly finally came running back, Carolyn had had another contraction and was in the grip of another.
“This house is too damn big!” Polly’s hands were full. She dropped Carolyn’s bag on the floor next to her purse and helped Carolyn into her coat. “I’ve phoned the hospital, they’re expecting you. Let’s get you in the car.”
Polly opened the door. Outside, the night was dark and cold.
“I’m scared,” Carolyn whispered. “Fucking damnation, I’m so scared!”
Polly wrapped Carolyn in an awkward hug. “Of course you are. Everyone is. But you’ll do fine, I promise.”
A sob broke from Carolyn’s throat. “Polly, my mother died when she was thirty-seven!”
“Well, you are not going to die,” Polly told her firmly. “I won’t let you.” She gripped Carolyn’s shoulders. “Got that, Carolyn? I mean it. You’re not going to die. So stop thinking that way. Think about your little girl, she’s almost here! Relax, let your body do what it was designed to do. And don’t worry. I promise, you’ll be okay.”
——————————
In the dark of night, they wound through the sleeping streets of Sperry and raced along the Mass. Pike. Carolyn’s contractions, coming every two minutes, were so painful she couldn’t help crying out.
“Polly. I’m afraid I’ll have this baby in your car!”
Polly patted Carolyn’s hand. “Don’t worry. You could continue labor for hours yet.”
“With contractions like this? Coming every two minutes?” Carolyn felt her eyes bug out of her head in horror.
Polly laughed. She handed Carolyn her cell phone. “Call Hank, tell him to get home fast.”
Carolyn waited until a contraction passed, then punched in the numbers. The phone rang and rang and rang. Finally, Hank answered, his voice groggy with sleep.
It was so good to hear his voice, she nearly sobbed. “Hank. I’m having the baby.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Where are you?”
“In Polly Lodge’s car. She’s taking me to the hospital.”
“I’ll leave now. I’ll get there as soon as I can. I love you, Carolyn.”
“I love you.”
——————————
By the time they arrived at the hospital, Carolyn was sick with pain. She lay with eyes closed against the passenger door, trying to breathe as she’d been taught. The attendants helped her into the wheelchair. She vomited all over herself.
“Sorry,” she panted. “Sorry, sorry.”
The pain was making her nutty. The admitting clerk took so long Carolyn wanted to rise up out of her wheelchair and shake her. “You have all that information already!” she groaned.
“Your husband isn’t here?” the clerk asked.
“He’s out of town.”
“Is your labor coach here?”
“Yes.” Carolyn nodded her head toward Polly. “Right here.”
——————————
In the labor room, Carolyn was dressed in a johnny, helped up onto a table, and examined.
“Good girl,” the nurse said. “Already eight centimeters. You’ve been busy.”
“How much longer?” Carolyn asked.
The nurse shook her head. “We don’t know, hon. Not much longer. Maybe an hour or two.”
“Polly!” Reaching out, Carolyn grabbed Polly’s arm. “I can’t do this anymore!”
“Oh, sure you can.” Polly smiled. “I’m right here, and I’m going to help you.” Leaning close, she stroked Carolyn’s hair back from her face. “You’re doing really well, you know. Eight centimeters dilated, that’s great. I’m sure it won’t be much longer. Try to relax, sweetie. Breathe with me.”
“I hate this!” Carolyn wailed. “I really hate this! I feel trapped!”
“Okay, let’s get you some control. Are you comfortable?”
“Jesus Christ, no, of course I’m not comfortable!”
“Let’s try sitting up, then.” Polly looked over at the nurse, who pushed a button, and the head of the bed rose.
That did help. Carolyn felt less nauseous, and also less like an invalid, flat on her back like a fish out of the water, gasping for breath. The room was cheerful, paper with a floral print. Polly was hanging their coats in a little closet. A rocking chair sat next to the bed—
“It’s starting again,” Carolyn whimpered.
Polly came to her side, took Carolyn’s hands in her own, and said, “Okay. Focus on me. Breathe with me, the way I breathe.”
“How can you remember?” Carolyn demanded. “Your son is what, thirty-four years old?”
Polly smiled. “Believe me, once you’ve learned this kind of breathing, you never forget.”
——————————
Carolyn tried so hard. She wanted to do this right. She wanted to have the baby without drugs because it was best for the baby. And Polly was helping. She puffed along with Carolyn, and in between contractions she rubbed Carolyn’s back or fed her spoons of ice. Nurses came to check her dilation, blood pressure, the baby’s heart tones, then went away. Carolyn felt as if she had the worst case of flu in her life, while at the same time being backed over by a Greyhound bus.
