by Lilian Darcy
“So we both pretended we couldn’t see that she was upset underneath,” Lee told Mac that evening, in his cabin.
He’d been running errands all day, dealing with practicalities about the new job and the house rental, and they’d met here, as agreed, at five. Inwardly, he was still a little...upset...himself, to discover that she and Daisy had been sanding and painting half the day, and the fact that Lee had taken a nap after lunch wasn’t quite good enough.
Tomorrow, if the weather was still holding, he planned to “help”—translation: take over—and he honestly didn’t know if that would annoy her, or if he was right to think it would be better if she wasn’t doing this. But he had nothing else on, and he hated this hiatus before the new job started, so why not paint boats? It would stop him from having to coach and deliver pep talks to himself about it.
She’s only three months pregnant. She’s out in the open, where the fumes can spread. She had a mask on when she was sanding. She took breaks and drank water. It’s just painting, not shooting ten meters into the air on a board above an icy curve of snow.
“So how did you know she was upset?” he asked now, about Mary Jane.
“Sometimes you just know.”
“Why didn’t you call her on it? Tell her you understood that it was a little hard for her?”
“Because we didn’t need that, any of us.”
“I guess not.”
“Sometimes, pretending isn’t a bad thing,” Lee said.
Like I’m pretending I’m not upset about you painting boats.
Things came in threes, sometimes. His phone rang about a minute later, before they’d had time to decide if they were going out to eat or getting something in, or if they weren’t even thinking about food yet, because the bed looked so inviting through the open bedroom door.
“Mac?” It was his mother, in Idaho.
“Hi, Mom. How’s it going?”
“Well, not great,” she said. “A little sad, actually, even though we didn’t know him that well. Ronnie Halpern died.”
“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.” Mac added after a respectful moment, “Who is Ronnie Halpern?” He telegraphed to Lee that this might take a while, but in fact it didn’t.
Ronnie Halpern, widower aged eighty-nine and an old friend of Dad’s father, had passed away peacefully in a rest home in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, surrounded by his loving family, and Mom and Dad were flying east for the funeral on Friday.
“And then we thought we’d come up and spend a day or two with you,” Mom said, inappropriately bright, considering. “Friday evening through Sunday afternoon. We’ve checked flights. There’s a red-eye we can take to Pittsburgh tomorrow night, but we just wanted to make sure it would be okay with you before we make the reservation.”
“It’s fine. It’ll be good to see you.” Even though he’d seen them only a couple weeks ago. “Email me your flight details and I can pick you up at the airport. You’ll fly into Albany?”
“That’s right. It would be great if you could pick us up.”
But he wasn’t quite getting this. Flying all that way for the funeral of someone they’d barely known?
Then he remembered the date.
Saturday was the seventh anniversary of baby Kelly’s death.
Sometimes, pretending wasn’t a bad thing....
He felt his throat tighten, and knew if he tried to call them on it, tell them they didn’t have to do this, that he didn’t want them to do it, he’d probably not be able to speak at all. Did they know that he’d guessed? That he’d been thinking on and off about that early April date that came every year?
Most of those years he’d gotten a card or an email from Sloane saying things he didn’t want to hear. On the second and fifth anniversaries, he’d gotten a phone call from her and that had been even worse.
But this time the anniversary was different, and Mom and Dad knew it. This time, he was a father-to-be again, and in the same ambiguous situation of being involved with the mother, but with no decision about long-term commitment and plans.
He almost said something.
You owe one to Ronnie Halpern, don’t you, for giving you a good excuse to come east?
Nope. Don’t. The humor was too black, and the truth too close to the bone. In memory of Ronnie and Kelly, he kept his mouth shut.
“You there, Mac?” Mom said.
“Yep, I’m here. Just thinking about where I’m going to put you.”
“Where you’re going to put us? Oh, wait, Dad wants to speak to you about that.”
There was a slight flurry of noise, then Mac heard his father on the line, saying very firmly, “Put us in a good hotel.”
“Really?” It wasn’t their usual style. Mom was way insistent on economical motel rooms or housekeeping cottages.
In the background, sure enough, he heard her saying, “You don’t have to do that.”
“Ignore her, Mac,” Dad said. Then, with his mouth away from the phone, said, “Let me spoil you for once, Gina,” and Mac wondered if this, too, was about the anniversary and the funeral. Dad was extra aware, right now, of the things he held dear, and Mom was at the top of that list.
She came back on the line. “It’s fine,” she assured him. “Whatever you want is fine.”
“No, I’ll do the hotel, the way Dad wants. You deserve a little spoiling.”
“Well, that would be wonderful.” She knew. They both knew. And like Lee and her sisters this morning, neither of them was going to say it out loud.
When he’d put down the phone, he told Lee that his parents were detouring up here to see him after coming east for a funeral, and endured her condolences and good wishes without admitting to the truth of what he knew. It wasn’t old Mr. Halpern’s death that was weighing on his parents’ hearts nearly so much as little Kelly’s.
“So...eat in tonight, or go out?” Lee asked him, when there wasn’t anything more to say about his parents’ plans.
“Out.” Should he have told her why they were really coming? He couldn’t remember how precise he’d been when he’d first talked to her about his loss. He’d said it would soon be seven years since Kelly had died, but he hadn’t mentioned the exact date.
“Now?” she asked.
“Getting hungry,” he lied. Really, he needed air and space more than food. Should he tell her? What would that do to her first meeting with his parents? It wouldn’t likely make anything easier.
They’re coming because you’re pregnant and it’s the anniversary of the loss of their grandchild, and they don’t know if I’ll find that tough. They’re finding it tough, themselves. They’re uncomfortable about not being able to put a label on our relationship. They’re remembering what it was like, seven years ago, when Sloane was so big on freedom, and they want to know if they can trust you.
He didn’t know if he would find it tough, either, and at some level trust was probably still an issue, too.
“Somewhere nice, hey?” he suggested.
“Adirondack Steakhouse? Not that many nice places open all year round up here.”
“Sounds good. Steak is always good. I’m going to help you paint tomorrow, by the way.”
“Oh, yeah? How come?”
“Because I have nothing else on, and because I won’t be able to help the next couple of days after that, with my parents here.”
“You don’t have to help at all.”
“Give a man a break. You know I hate sitting around.”
“Wouldn’t be because you hate thinking about me painting when I’m pregnant, would it?”
“That, too,” he said easily, with a smile. Faking it. Because sometimes pretending was the best you could do.
* * *
“So glad you wanted to go out,” Lee said, halfway through their mea
l. “I didn’t know how much I wanted steak till the waiter put it down in front of me!”
“Maybe you need iron tablets.”
“I don’t, because iron is already featured strongly in my prenatal multivitamin. Tonight I’m just starving!”
“Let’s not have a repeat of the pizza experience.”
“I’ve been feeling tons better the past couple of days. Zesty!”
“That’s great.” He smiled, but there was something behind it that reminded her of Mary Jane today—a really solid, convincing performance, but a performance nonetheless.
“It is the boat painting, isn’t it?” she said. “You don’t want me doing things like that.”
He said nothing for a moment, then admitted, “Okay, yes, but I recognize that’s not rational or reasonable, and I’m trying to fight it. I know the cotton-ball treatment isn’t necessary.”
She reached across the table and put her hand over his. “Thank you. Thank you so much for trying to find a balance.” They went back to eating steak, which was tough on conversational flow and gave her time to think instead.
Points for trying. Mac had definitely earned those. How much longer would it be before he didn’t have to try, before he just let go and trusted her and life? What would happen if he never learned to do that? What would happen if he kept leaning on her, if he forgot all about their relationship because he was so focused on the baby, if their feelings for each other got confused and lost because they’d never had a real chance to work out what those feelings were?
She felt the same mix of care and claustrophobia that her family used to give her, that Tucker had given her during their engagement, after she’d gotten burned.
Just leave me alone, guys, so that I can stay me.
Being her had become incredibly important over the years, and yet Lee knew that in some ways she—the person she was—would change with a baby. Would have to. Would be bound to. People did change with parenthood. She wouldn’t be the same person anymore. But she wanted to feel her own way forward with that, she didn’t want Mac or her sisters or anyone dictating how it happened and where it went.
And it was the same with “us”—if there even was one. She didn’t want shared parenthood to be the only thing that defined them, the whole foundation for her and Mac’s relationship.
“Maybe we could go out in one of the boats, when they’re done,” she suggested, grabbing for some time together that had no purpose beyond just that—being together.
“Yeah?”
“I’ll even let you do most of the paddling. It’s such a great lake to explore—so many little bays and points and islands, and some of them have camps on them, or houses. You can see things you’d never see from the road or the shore. If it’s still nice tomorrow, we could paint in the morning and paddle in the afternoon.”
“Paddle or row?” He seemed to be holding back a little. “There are dinghies, too, aren’t there?”
“I like paddling better, even though you tend to get wetter. And Daisy and I painted two of the canoes yesterday.”
“Life jackets?”
“They’re in the boat shed. We’ll brush the spiders off, I promise, and hang the jackets up all morning in the sun, in case they’re musty.”
“Food and water?”
“We have waterproof bags for that stuff.”
“First-aid kit?”
“You expect me to tell you we don’t have one, but we do, and it can go in the bag.”
“Cell phones?”
“Great reception now, most of the lake. Way better than it was a few years ago.”
“GPS tracker? Flare gun?”
“We... Well, I guess we could—” Okay, no. She sat back and looked at him. “Who are you kidding here, Mac?”
“Myself. Yeah, just me.” He looked embarrassed and wry. “Kidding myself. Not really suggesting a GPS or a flare gun.”
“Good answer. You’re not that worried about a canoe trip, are you?”
He said reluctantly, “Something could happen.”
“Something could, even if there wasn’t a pregnant person on board. We’ll tell Daisy or Mary Jane what we’re doing. We won’t go miles from shore or across to the far side. And apparently you’ll be doing most of the paddling, so the pregnant person won’t even get tired.” She leaned across the table and planted a slow and very smoky kiss on his mouth. He tasted salty. “I like that we’re talking about this,” she told him softly. “Solving it. Meeting each other halfway.”
He muttered, “Yeah...” and kissed her back with his heart not quite in it, she could tell. He was trying. They both were. What if trying never got them very far?
Let it go for now, Lee.
Maybe they’d talked about it enough. She decided to tell him instead what she planned to do to him when they got back to his cabin, and he seemed to find that topic of conversation far more entertaining.
* * *
The fine weather held, and Daisy, Mac and Lee sanded and painted four more boats in the morning. Then Daisy went off to do some menu planning for the restaurant, and Mac and Lee put on life jackets, packed a picnic and emergency supplies, and went out on the lake in a sky-blue canoe.
Today, it all seemed so simple, Mac thought. Lee sat in front of him, giving suggestions about where they went, while he worked the paddle, a little clumsily at first because he hadn’t done this for a while, then with increasing confidence and rhythm.
They both wore shorts and running shoes topped with sweaters, windproof jackets and the chunky life vests, and she had a New York Giants winter hat, as well, in red, navy and white, with a big colorful pom-pom on top. She looked ridiculous and he kept grinning at her, and it was lucky he was behind her and she couldn’t see the grin, or he would have had to explain.
The contrast between Lee in tiger mode last night in bed, sliding her naked body against his, and Lee in outdoor mode today, making the canoe rock from side to side when she twisted to point out the landmarks from her childhood, tickled him down to his toes.
He loved that she was like this.
All woman, deceptively packaged.
He loved that a lot of men wouldn’t have looked twice at her, because they were blind to what really counted, and he knew so much better than them. He felt like the star member of a club of one, because he knew how great she was and how gorgeous she was and how fun she was, beneath the knit football hat and concealing jacket and vest.
When they beached the canoe on a tiny, uninhabited island and she climbed out of it, he loved the smooth, silky stretch of her bare legs, the curve of her butt in the denim shorts and the nice knots of muscle in her calves. He loved the way she scrambled up the path, and the way she paused for a moment and closed her eyes to breathe in the air, full of the scents of earth and pine and early spring.
He loved the eagerness in her face when she said, “There are some rocks over the other side, beyond the pine trees. They should be in the sun, and our legs’ll stay warm and we can eat, and we’ll have great views all up and down the lake.”
They’d had tuna melts for lunch back at the resort, so this was just a snack—doughnuts and bananas and juice. She was a little overoptimistic about how warm it was, even on the sunny rocks, and after a few minutes he saw the goose bumps appear on her legs. “Hey, you’re cold....” he said, and shifted the remains of their doughnut picnic out of the way so he could put his arms around her.
She shrugged and gave him an upside-down smile. “Nah, it’s okay. Top half is warm. How about you?” She twisted to look at him, her mouth an inch away and so pink and lush from this angle. With the pregnancy, with his baby inside her, she was glowing, ripening, beautiful.
“I have body hair to protect me. You’re so smooth....” He leaned into her side and ran his hand along the top of her thigh, where her skin fe
lt like bread dough kneaded to a sheen, or like buttery-soft leather in a high-end car. Were those the kinds of images you were supposed to have when you touched your lover’s skin? He didn’t care. This was who she was to him—a woman of depth and quality, utterly real.
I love her. I just love all of her.
It kicked the bottom out of his world, it was so scary, and he didn’t know what he was going to do about it. His heart began to thump faster, and he almost said it then and there. But it was only just over a week since they’d had that whole conversation about not getting married, and it hadn’t gone well.
She’d been angry about the very idea. She’d thought he was assuming that she was hanging out for a proposal, and she’d bristled at the idea of being taken for that kind of traditional female. He did understand that.
Did I love you fall into the same category?
He wasn’t sure.
I love you was about now, not about the future, so it should be a little safer. But he knew that it could sound like a statement of ownership or a piece of emotional blackmail, just as much as I want to marry you.
If she thought this was just about the baby...
If it was just about the baby...
Was that why he was feeling like this? Did he feel this surge of love only because she was the woman carrying his child?
Maybe the L word and the M word were both best avoided.
Lee had just picked up his hand and put it back on her thigh. The inside of her thigh. Mac wanted to laugh at the idea that he was thinking about love and marriage while she was clearly thinking about sex. How was that for a role reversal? But if he laughed, she would demand to be let in on the joke, and then it would stop being funny.
They’d known each other less than four months. His sister, Lisa, had dated Andy for three years before they got engaged and another year before they got married. His parents only a little less than that.
For him and Sloane, it had been nearly eighteen months from when they met to when they parted in such grief and turmoil. And if they’d said, “I love you, let’s get married,” at any point during that time, he thought it would have only made the situation even worse.
