Belonging

by Nancy Thayer

  At some point she fell asleep, waking to find that Madaket had covered her with a beach towel to prevent burning. The sun was lower now, less direct, but the day was hotly silent, as if muted by heat. Joanna sat drinking a bottle of Perrier, and then she and Madaket set off beachcombing, walking ankle-deep in the cool water, stopping at the discovery of an especially remarkable shell. Here and there the tide had deposited the dark brown, menacing, tanklike shells of the horseshoe crab.

  “Those are perfect animals,” Madaket told Joanna, pointing.

  “The horseshoe crab?”

  “Yes. We learned this in science. This creature has existed exactly as it is for billions of years. Its design works. Unlike human beings, who must be at the beginning of their evolution.”

  “At least we’re prettier,” Joanna said.

  “Not to a horseshoe crab,” Madaket retorted.

  They strolled south, occasionally walking on spongy humps of dried eel grass, which felt pleasantly cool to the soles of their feet. Pink and white roses speckled the grassy dunes and perfumed the air. Seagulls swooped low over the water while farther down, a flock of tiny sandpipers scurried worriedly back and forth over the damp sand, seemingly involved in a neurotic search for something they’d lost. An older couple sat close together, staring out at the water, arms linked, their hair and smiles gleaming white against the leathery tan of their skin. Joanna and Madaket turned and walked north, retracing their footsteps in the sand.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever known such quiet,” Joanna remarked. “Not ever in my life.”

  “It’s a luxury, isn’t it?” Madaket said. “One of the greatest luxuries of all.”

  “Luxury?” Joanna contemplated the idea, then agreed, “Yes. I suppose you’re right.”

  Finally they gathered up their paraphernalia and headed home, even though the sky was alluring with its pearly streaks of high, fair-weather cloud. Joanna was so relaxed she was almost comatose, and even though she knew she should learn how to use the air pump at the main road to fill the tires back to their proper air pressure, she was simply too tired to move.

  “Look, Madaket, just drop me at home, drive yourself home, and bring the Jeep back tomorrow when you come out. I’m too blissed out to drive.”

  “You’ll be okay out here without a car?”

  “I’ll be fine. I’ll just lie on the sofa. I feel about as evolved as a clam.”

  Madaket laughed, then looked anxious. “Shall I come in and fix you some dinner?”

  “Of course not. It’s your day off. I can fend for myself. God, Madaket, what a perfect day. Thank you.”

  In her house Joanna emptied out the hamper and shook sand from the beach towels. That done, she showered, then stretched out on her bed in her terry-cloth robe. She had a glossy new novel waiting for her on the bedside table, but all at once in the early twilight she was lonely.

  It had been a lovely, perfect summer day, and she was glad she’d gotten to know more of Madaket’s world, but what sustained Madaket would not sustain Joanna. She needed more than trees and daydreams.

  Although her daydreams had been pretty interesting lately. Jake’s kiss had stirred her deeply, roused her curiosity, and made her hungry for more … yet thinking of that kiss, Jake’s warmth and intensity, caused Joanna’s heart to trip and pound. Her face flushed, her fingers went numb. Not good. Not good for her pregnancy, and foolish besides, to indulge herself in schoolgirl fantasies. Jake was a kind man. He was fond of her. That was all.

  But she could not stop thinking of him.

  Perhaps it was only that she missed the network so much.

  Impulsively she picked up the phone and dialed Dhon’s home number, which sprang complete into her mind.

  “Happy birthday, Mr. President.” Today Dhon had the breathy tones of a fake Marilyn Monroe on his answering machine tape. “So sorry I can’t talk to you now, but I’m in a nice, warm, wet, perfumy bubble bath. Wish you were with me. I’d let you pop my bubbles. Leave me a message and you know what I’ll do.”

  Abruptly the beep shrilled against her ear. Joanna put down the receiver. The very act of almost talking to Dhon had started her blood racing. Her mind churned with confusion. She loved Dhon, she missed him, she was dying to hear how he was and to get all the New York gossip—but Dhon was so seductive. It would take him no time at all to find out where she was, and how she was, and why she was there. With the best of intentions, he’d spill out every secret he knew, and some he only suspected.

  And with the best of intentions, he’d rush to work the next day to gush out to everyone at the network anything Joanna divulged to him.

  She felt caught between two worlds and a part of neither. The network glittered dangerously in one direction; the silence of the summer dark lay emptily in the other.

  Pushing herself up and swinging her feet to the floor, Joanna headed for her study. She’d do some work on her books; that would settle her down.

  But a wave of nausea struck her. At the same time a bolt of pain hammered across her forehead and flashing lights sparked before her eyes. Sinking back onto the bed, she closed her eyes and just sat, holding on.

  The message from her body was clear and direct. When the headache subsided, she carefully lowered herself back onto the pillows. Now the flashing lights dimmed, but in their place blinked words from the books she’d read on pregnancy:

  Preeclampsia. Toxemia. A rise in blood pressure. Symptoms: Headache, nausea, flashing lights, vomiting. More likely if you are pregnant with twins or over forty. Danger to the babies: premature labor. Birth before the babies are mature enough to survive. Danger to the mother: convulsions. A possible state of coma. Treatment: bed rest.

  Joanna forced herself to be still. She kept her thoughts on the summer day, the sunshine, the drugging heat, the expanse of sparkling water. She could feel her blood pressure falling. Only four more months, she told herself. She could make herself behave for four more months. Then she would have her babies.

  Fourteen

  Joanna sat on the edge of the examining table. She’d just dressed after having her July checkup, and with a polite knock, Gardner Adams opened the door and returned to the room. He looked worried. Her heart skipped a beat.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “I’m concerned about your blood pressure.” He leaned against the counter, folded his arms over his chest, and looked at Joanna. Backlit by the window behind him, he seemed, with his glowing halo of sandy hair, slightly angelic. “Let’s talk about this a little, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Have you chosen a birth partner?”

  Joanna flushed. “No. Not yet.”

  “Are you living alone?”

  “Yes. Well, sort of—although it doesn’t seem like it. Doug and Todd Snow are at the house six days a week, eight to five, doing major and necessary renovations. Also, I have a young woman, Madaket Brown, who comes in every day to help with the housework and the cooking.”

  “She cooks for you?”

  “Most meals, yes.”

  “I’d like to talk to her.”

  “All right. She’s out in the waiting room. I have to have her drive me everywhere these days—I’ve gotten so big.”

  “How many days a week does she cook for you?”

  “Five. And leaves casseroles and so on for me for the weekend.”

  “And you say she takes care of the housework?”

  “Yes. I’m rushing to finish up two books.”

  “Two books.” He sounded as if he were passing judgment. “Are you getting sufficient rest?”

  “I think so.”

  “Do you have any extra worries, added pressures, since we last talked?”

  Joanna shook her head. “Not really. I’m very excited about these babies. I’m really happier than I’ve been before in my life.”

  Gardner’s smile seemed affectionate. “That’s good. Let’s go talk to your cook.”

  Reaching over, he took her by the arm and helped h
er down from the table, then opened the door and ushered her out along the corridor to the reception room, where Madaket sat thumbing through a magazine. Today she was wearing a pale coral dress printed all over with tiny violets, and her long black hair was held back by a coral ribbon. When she saw the physician in his white coat and stethoscope approaching with Joanna, she jumped up, alarmed. Her black eyes flew to Joanna’s face.

  “It’s all right,” Joanna hastened to assure her. “Madaket, this is Dr. Adams.”

  “Gardner,” the doctor said, holding out his hand.

  Madaket shook his hand. “Hello.”

  “Joanna tells me you cook for her, and I’d like to talk to you about this a moment. Perhaps she’s told you: she’s got a bit of a problem with blood pressure. High blood pressure is common with twins, but it can lead to serious difficulties, and we want to prevent those. I just wanted to be sure you know you should keep salt away from your employer.”

  “Yes. I’ve got her on a salt-free diet.”

  “Good. Also, be sure she gets plenty of rest. Bed rest. Not lying flat, but well propped up on pillows.”

  “I wonder—could I fix her some herbal teas?”

  “What kind of herbs?”

  “Bearberry leaves, from the moors, carefully picked and washed, then soaked in brandy, then brewed in boiling water. Sweetened. Bearberry is a natural diuretic.”

  “I wouldn’t want it soaked in brandy or any alcohol. Not for a pregnant woman.”

  “All right. No brandy.” Madaket thought a moment. “I’ll mix the bearberry leaves with dandelion and peppermint leaves.”

  “Where did you hear about the properties of bearberry?” Gardner asked.

  “It’s my grandmother’s recipe. Her grandmother’s actually.”

  “Sounds like it couldn’t hurt and it could help. Along with other measures, such as watching salt intake and enforcing rest.” Gardner smiled at Madaket and, leaning toward her, confided in a low voice, “My feeling is that you’ll have to be a bit of a policeman with our patient.”

  “Please!” Joanna protested. “You have no idea how much I want these babies.”

  “Then take good care of yourself,” he admonished, reverting to his more formal self. “See if you can cut down on stress. Perhaps you could even try to finish only one book instead of two. Shorten your workday. Break it up into nap periods.” Gardner turned back to Madaket. “I’ll leave her in your hands.”

  Joanna and Madaket were in the parking lot, just getting into the Jeep, when to their surprise a side door of the Nantucket Cottage Hospital opened and Gardner Adams came out, walking so briskly his white lab coat flew out behind him and his stethoscope flapped against his chest. He came to the passenger side and leaned in the window. The sunlight blazed through his curly hair.

  “Joanna. You live out on Squam Road, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Look. I live out there, too. I think I’ll start coming by a few times a week to check your blood pressure. No, no”—he patted her arm—“I’m not trying to frighten you. I just want to keep an eye on it, and there’s no reason for you to make the trip into town, especially in this heat.” He looked across the Jeep at Madaket. “You’ll be there? You can answer the door?”

  “I’m there between eight and five.”

  “Good. See you later. Oh, and could you save me a bit of your tea? I’d like to taste it.”

  “Sure.”

  “Great. See you.” He streaked back toward the hospital.

  “How unusual,” Joanna said when Gardner Adams had gone inside the building.

  “For most doctors, I suppose, but I’ve heard he’s especially sympathetic,” Madaket replied. “The Coffins were talking about him. He’s supposed to be good, too.” She started the engine and steered the Jeep out of the lot, around the corner, and toward town along Pleasant Street. “So now you’re meeting Tory for lunch?”

  “Right. At the Boarding House.”

  “What time should I pick you up?”

  Joanna looked at her watch. “Two o’clock. I’m meeting her at twelve-thirty, or I thought I was. We’ll be late with all the traffic!” she cried, as they joined a sluggish line of cars creeping toward Main Street. “What’s going on?”

  “It’s overcast. Looks like rain. People can’t go to the beach.”

  “I’ve heard for years that the whole atmosphere of the town changes between the winter and summer months, but this is the first time I’ve noticed it. God! Look at that!” Joanna shook her head as a father on a bike wavered out in front of a car, while the baby wobbled, fragile head helmetless, in the seat on the back of the bike.

  “Our fire chief said in the newspaper that the tourists think Nantucket’s a theme park. Not real, so they’re free from all the laws of the real world. They think they’re immortal here,” Madaket told Joanna.

  “How many tourists are there?”

  “According to records, seven thousand people live here in January. Forty thousand in August.”

  “It must drive the natives mad.”

  “Well, yes. It also gives them a living. July and August are the busiest tourist months. Most of our businesses make more than half their yearly income then. I know the Coffins are always overwhelmed and exhausted by the time Labor Day comes. You should see the grocery stores. There are lines to get in the lines.”

  “It’s worth it to be here,” Joanna told Madaket as they briefly double-parked on Federal Street. With effort she pried herself out of the Jeep. “See you at two!”

  Crossing the street to the restaurant where Tory sat waiting at an umbrella table, Joanna, in a pale pink float which fell loosely about her as she glided along, felt large and helplessly spectacular. But no one turned to stare. Had her television fans forgotten her already? Perhaps her large-brimmed straw hat and sunglasses were disguise enough.

  Tory looked fresh and summery. She wore loose white cotton and sipped a strawberry daiquiri. As Joanna slid into a chair across from her, Tory remarked, “I don’t think I’ve seen you in town before without that awful wig. You look great.”

  “Thanks. I just hope I don’t run into anyone I know.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, because of Carter.”

  Tory stared at Joanna levelly. “Do you really think it matters now?”

  Her words pierced like a splinter. Joanna waited until the waitress had taken their order, then demanded, “What do you mean?”

  Tory’s eyes searched Joanna’s face, and finding something there that made her sad, leaned forward and put her hand on Joanna’s arm. “I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to be abrupt, but I’ve been meaning to talk to you about this … Joanna, I think that if Carter wanted to find you, he would have found you by now. It’s been almost four months.”

  Joanna looked silently at her friend. When she could steady her voice, she replied softly, “I suppose you’re right, Tory. I guess I just haven’t wanted to give up all hope.” She smoothed her napkin over her lap, working for self-control, but when she looked up at Tory, her eyes filled with tears for the second time that day. “Shit,” she whispered sharply, and stabbed her sunglasses back up her nose, closer to her eyes. “I’ve become an absolute faucet!”

  Tory continued to stroke Joanna’s hand. “I’m so sorry, Joanna. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to be unkind.”

  “I know you didn’t, Tory.”

  “Tell me. How are the babies?”

  That brought a smile back to Joanna’s face. “Gardner Adams said they’re perfect. My blood pressure’s on the high side, so I have to cut out salt.” As the waitress set their salads before them, she added, “Just think: I’m sitting here eating for three!”

  “You look like it, too. You’re growing so fast I can never remember your due date.”

  “Late October, early November. Which reminds me.” Joanna put down her fork and folded her hands in her lap. This was a momentous moment for her; she wanted it to be memorable. She was asking a favor, but she was
also, in a way, honoring Tory. Clearing her throat, she said, “I’d like you to be my birth partner.”

  With her fork, Tory pushed aside a cucumber and speared a bit of marinated avocado. “Sorry, hon, I can’t.”

  Joanna was stunned. Tory had always praised birth as the ultimate moment in a woman’s life; Joanna assumed Tory would be thrilled to share it with her. “Why not?”

  “You know Jeremy starts boarding school this fall. I promised his coach I’d be a soccer mom—help transport the kids to games and all that, and I’m going to be on the fund-raising committee for Vicki’s school. I’ll be up in Connecticut all fall.” She glanced at Joanna. “Are you okay?”

  Joanna had to take off her sunglasses to wipe away tears. “I’m all right. Just surprised. I thought—I was counting on you—”

  “Joanna, you know I’m happy for you. You know I’ll do anything I can to help. But you also know my family always comes first with me. Always has, always will.” She leaned forward again to pat Joanna’s hand. “Once you have your children, you’ll understand.”

  For the rest of the lunch, Joanna listened while Tory discussed the plans for the new sports facility at Vicki’s school. She had planned to do a number of errands after lunch, but when Madaket arrived with the Jeep at two, Joanna was so weary she told the young woman simply to drive back to the house. She needed to lie down and rest.

  “Are you okay?” Madaket asked.

  “Just tired. Very tired.”

  “Put your seat back,” Madaket suggested.

  “Good idea.” Joanna pressed the electric button and her seat slowly reclined. She lay back. That was better. She took deep breaths. The Jeep quietly rolled away from the town and along the winding road to Wauwinet. Shadows and sunlight trailed over her eyelids like scarves of indigo and gold chiffon, and with it memories drifted across her thoughts. Suddenly she remembered—no, it was more of a reliving—riding in the car with her mother at the wheel when she was small. The breath, perfume, gentle movements of another woman caused a kind of radiance from her which made Joanna feel protected and cherished, and also terribly female, and glad to be so. When she was young, riding like this as her mother traveled from one friend’s home to another’s, she was aware of a sense of excitement, an eager hope for all that lay ahead, an awareness of myriad possibilities and a desire to be prepared for them. That was something, Joanna realized, to be grateful for. If her mother had not been good at making a home, she had been wonderful at making journeys.