by Jean Stone
Wait a minute. What the hell was she saying?
“You mean you’ll float me the money even if you never see your ring again?”
“Yes. I told you. I want the ring back. Sure. But I care about you. I care about what happens to you.”
“Why?”
Jess shrugged. “Maybe because we have a lot more things in common than you think.”
“Sure. Name one.”
“Even though I have my father, and you have your mother and your stepfather, I think we’re both kind of alone in the world.”
It was then that Ginny knew she’d give her back the fucking ring, money or not. She didn’t want this kid playing with her head any longer.
Susan
Susan picked at a fraying strand around the hem of her denim tent dress, then slipped into leather sandals. It was time to meet with Miss Gladstone—“Miss Gallstone,” Ginny called her—the prissy social worker assigned to the girls by the state. She hoisted herself from the bed and made her way downstairs to the living room, collecting her thoughts as she went. She had prepared what she was going to say, and she could almost predict Miss Gladstone’s response.
“What about your family?” The social worker stared Susan down, as though Susan had just told her she planned to commit the ultimate crime.
“What about them?” Susan glared back.
“How will they feel if you decide to keep the child?”
Susan was an adult, and she didn’t need this do-gooder crap. “I am over twenty-one, Miss Gladstone. I don’t need to concern myself as much with my family as I do with what’s right for my baby.”
“What makes you think this is right for your baby?”
“Because I love this baby. I love its father. Hopefully someday we can be reunited.”
“Then you’ve made your decision?”
“Yes.” It was the first time Susan realized that she really had. “I’m going to keep the baby,” she said, as though saying it aloud confirmed it.
“Well, I’m sorry to hear that. There are so many couples in a position to give a baby a loving, respectable home. Couples who would give anything to have a child of their own, but who cannot. They could give your baby a normal, happy life.”
Susan stood up and paced the living room. “I don’t need to be preached to, Miss Gladstone. I know perfectly well there are people much better suited to raise a baby than I presently am. But let them adopt other babies. They cannot have mine.”
Miss Gladstone fumbled with her briefcase. “Then I guess I won’t be needing you to fill out any forms.”
“No.” Just take your forms and get the hell out of here, Susan wanted to say. Just get the hell out of here and leave me alone. Her decision had been made, and she wanted to be alone to think about it, to start making plans. She put a hand to the seven-month fetus inside her. Suddenly she was getting excited.
“I’ll talk with the next girl now.”
Susan fled the room, rushing past Ginny as she went. “You’re next. Good luck!”
“Mazel tov,” Ginny retorted, and gave her the finger.
When Susan got to her room, it seemed as though her heart would never stop pounding. Maybe she shouldn’t have flown up the two flights of stairs so fast. But there was so much to think about! Screw her parents—they’d get over it.
She pulled a notebook from under a heap of books, grabbed a pen, and flopped on the bed. Where to start.
Options. First. A job.
Where? New York, of course. Well, maybe not. Maybe Boston. Check with P.J. on living conditions in Boston. Maybe it would be cheaper. Boston. Hey, why not? It would put her farther away from her parents, and she could easily find a grad school there. Plus, she had the inheritance from her grandfather. Maybe in Boston it would be enough to pay her expenses—and the baby’s—while she was in school. Her grandmother would certainly approve of Susan using the money to go to grad school, to be on her own. Maybe someday Susan would even be able to bring herself to tell Bubby about the baby. Maybe, maybe not. Maybe someday Bubby would come and sit with the baby, sing soft Hebrew songs, and whisper comforting Hebrew words—the things she had done for Susan when Susan was a child. Maybe. Maybe.
Her thoughts raced on.
After grad school she could get a better job. She’d go for English lit. What better place to get a master’s in English lit than Boston—that great cultural city? She threw down the notebook. Or maybe, by the time she’d finished grad school, David would be back from Vietnam. And maybe he’d be back in her life. Their lives. Hers, and their baby’s.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. It was time to find P.J.
“P.J.! I need your help!” Susan burst through P.J.’s door. P.J. was there, sitting on the edge of her bed, quietly staring out the window.
“I finally made a decision,” Susan babbled. “I just talked with the social worker, and, shit, I’m going to do it!”
P.J. seemed distracted. “I talked with her too,” she said.
Susan saw the forlorn look on P.J.’s face. “Oh, shit, I’m sorry. You had to fill out the forms.”
P.J. nodded.
“It was tough, wasn’t it?”
“Oh, yeah. My name. My medical history. Father’s name. Father’s medical history. Father’s—” she paused—“physical features. God, what do they care if he had brown hair or blond? All these months I’ve been trying to forget what the creep looked like. Now they make me bring it all back.”
“Oh, P.J., I’m sorry.”
“Forget it. What were you saying?”
“P.J., the strangest thing happened. Today a light bulb went on in my head. I made the decision. I’m going to keep my baby. I don’t know if I’ll ever see David again, but I can at least have his baby. I still love him. I love them both.”
“Susan, are you sure?”
“Damn sure.” And she was. “God knows what kind of mother I’ll be, but I’m going to give it my best shot.”
There was no way of misinterpreting the scowl on P.J.’s face. She didn’t approve.
“But is it fair to the baby, Susan? Can you imagine the kind of stigma it will have to not have a father? God, I have a friend whose parents are divorced. It was real hard on her when we were young. Kids can be so cruel to other kids.”
“Adults can be pretty cruel too, P.J.”
“But wouldn’t the baby be better off in a normal home with two parents who loved him?”
Susan lit a cigarette and walked to P.J.’s window. She pushed aside the makeup and colognes that lined the sill, opened the window, and blew out smoke. “Sounds to me like you really bought into our Miss Gladstone’s bullshit. It may be right for you, but not for me.”
“I don’t believe you. I think you’re convinced David will come back to you.”
“David never left me, P.J. I left him.” She stared at the huge oak tree outside P.J.’s window. The leaves were turning golden; another season had passed. “He’ll be back,” she said.
P.J. stood up and touched Susan’s arm. “What are you going to do? Where are you going to go?”
Susan turned to P.J. and smiled. “That’s where you come in. I need your help.”
“My help? How?”
“I’ve decided to live in Boston.”
“Oh,” P.J. groaned. “Lucky you.” She walked over to her bed and flopped down.
“P.J., I know Boston doesn’t hold the greatest memories for you.…”
“Hardly.”
“But I really could use your help. It’s already October. My baby will be born in less than two months. That doesn’t give me much time.”
“Time for what?”
“To get things settled. P.J., come to Boston with me? You know the city—I don’t. Come and help me find an apartment. Then we can come back here, and as soon as the baby’s born, I can take him”—she paused and smiled—“home.”
“How do you know it’s a ‘him’?”
Susan smiled. “I just know.”
I
f P.J. was reluctant to return to Boston, she didn’t say. They decided Pop would probably let them use the station wagon. They would tell Miss Taylor Susan wanted to go up to Amherst at the end of the week and look at a couple of schools. Instead, they would go to Boston and find an apartment for Susan.
It wasn’t the greatest location in the world, but the rent was cheap enough, and Susan didn’t have to sign a lease. The apartment was on the second floor of an ancient building on Massachusetts Avenue in Cambridge, halfway between M.I.T. and Harvard. There were five rooms whose ceilings seemed higher than the rooms were wide: a living room, kitchen, dining room, two bedrooms, and a bath. An old bath. Gray plumbing stuck out for all the world to see, and the floor, like the floor in the kitchen, should have been replaced a century ago. There was a fireplace in the living room—“Don’t try to use it though,” the landlady warned—which Susan thought added historic charm.
“It’s amazing how differently we look at things when it’s something we really want,” P.J. noted.
“Yeah,” Susan said, “isn’t it great? If my parents had found this apartment for me, I’d have told them where to go. But somehow, this is the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen.”
P.J. roamed the rooms. “Which room will be for the baby? The one overlooking the street, or the one overlooking the alley?”
Susan dismissed P.J.’s sarcasm. “Oh, I think the alley might be quieter,” she said.
“Don’t bet on it,” P.J. answered.
“Come on, P.J., don’t spoil my fun.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to. It’s just that this apartment looks a little too much like the one I had in Back Bay.”
“But this isn’t going to be a crash pad for roommates. It’s going to have a family in it.” Susan looked pensively out the living-room window. “And it’s close enough so in the spring I can walk the baby in the carriage to the park by the river. The famous Charles River. Maybe we can even cross the bridge. How far is it to the Boston Common?”
P.J. looked out the window beside her. “Far enough. But you can make it. With your long legs.”
Susan smiled. “P.J., the only thing that could make me happier right now would be if David came back into my life.”
“Maybe he will, Susan. But this isn’t a dream, you know. This baby is going to be very real, and it needs every chance it can get. You’re the one who’s always preaching doom and gloom for the world.”
“I’ve changed,” Susan said.
“I doubt it,” P.J. answered.
Susan ignored P.J.’s remark and went back into the kitchen where the landlady was stooped over, scraping something black off the worn linoleum. P.J. had followed Susan, and as they stood in the doorway, P.J. looked at Susan and shook her head. But she was smiling.
“Guess I’ll need to order some furniture and have it delivered. Enough to get started,” Susan said. She leaned against the chipped porcelain sink and wrote out a check for the security deposit and the first three months’ rent. The landlady stood up and pulled up her stocking, which had rolled below her fleshy knee.
“Will you be available to let the delivery men in?” Susan asked.
“Sure. I got nowheres to go.” The woman took the check and handed Susan the keys. “See you in a couple of months.” The woman left, and Susan sat on the floor. She started to laugh.
“Won’t my mother be pissed?” she said. “Not only will I have taken off with my baby, but once again I won’t be home for the holidays!”
They drove back on the Mass. Pike and stopped at Howard Johnson’s for dinner.
“This is a celebration,” Susan said. “It’s on me.” They gorged themselves on fried clams and french fries and had ice-cream cones for desert, then both felt sick afterward. But on the way back to Larchwood, Susan could not stop talking.
“A crib, a bassinet. A layette. Stuff like that. I’ve got to get shopping! Sears. That’s what I’ll do. I’ll go into town to Sears and order everything. They can have it sent from their Boston store, can’t they?”
P.J. looked out the car window. “How should I know? I suppose they can.”
“P.J., humor me. I know this is boring. I know this is hard on you, but believe me, it’s the greatest thing that ever happened to me. I feel like I’m finally finding myself. I’m getting away from my parents’ clutches.”
“It’s not really hard for me. Honest. I have no interest in keeping my baby. I don’t envy you. I only want to get this over with and get on with the rest of my life.”
Susan drove in silence. She thought about David.
“Do you think I can find him?” she asked.
P.J. shrugged. “I suppose it won’t hurt to keep trying.”
Susan tapped the steering wheel. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “Yeah, I’ll keep trying.”
It was after ten o’clock when they pulled into the driveway at Larchwood Hall. The front porch light glowed.
“Think Miss Taylor’s waiting up for us?” Susan asked.
“No doubt about it.” P.J. laughed.
Susan wheeled the car around to the garage. They got out and walked up the steps. “Remember, not a word,” she cautioned P.J. “Not to anyone.”
P.J. held up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”
The girls went inside.
Miss Taylor was seated in her office. The Tiffany desk lamp was the only light in the room. “You’re back safely, I see,” she said without her usual chirp. Was something wrong?
“Yes. A very informative trip, Miss Taylor,” Susan said. “Thank you for letting us go.”
“P.J.,” Miss Taylor said, “would you excuse us, please? I need to speak with Susan about something.”
P.J. looked at Susan, then back at Miss Taylor. “Sure. I’ll just go up to my room. Good night.”
Here it comes, Susan thought. Miss Taylor knows. That damn social worker must have told her.
“Sit down, dear,” Miss Taylor said.
Susan sat. “Is something wrong?”
“Miss Gladstone has informed me you’ve decided to keep your baby.”
An aftertaste of fried clams rose in her throat. “No. Not exactly,” she lied. “I’m still thinking about it.”
“Well, dear, anytime you’d like to talk about it, I’m here.”
That was it? No hassle?
“Oh, and, Susan, your mother called. She’d like you to call her back tonight. I expect it’s not too late, is it?”
Mother called? Oh, please. Miss Gladstone must have gotten to her too. “No. I can call her now, if it’s okay.”
“Go right ahead. I’ll leave you alone.” Miss Taylor got up from her chair and left.
Weird, Susan thought. Well, maybe she thinks my mother will talk me out of this. But this isn’t fair! I shouldn’t be treated like a child. I am old enough—legally and otherwise—to make my own decisions. But nothing could discourage Susan now. Nothing could take away from the great feeling of independence she had tonight, and nothing could take away from her happiness, not even her mother’s caustic remarks. It just wouldn’t work. Not this time. Not anymore.
Susan picked up the phone and placed the call, jotting down the date and phone number in the log. Her mother answered on the first ring.
“Susan?” she said, without even saying hello.
“Yes, Mother, how are you?”
“Fine. Fine.” Her mother didn’t sound angry. That was strange.
“Miss Taylor said you called.”
“Yes, I did. Susan I had some news today.”
Uh-oh, here it comes.
“One of your friends from college called.”
“David?” Her heart raced.
“No. No, it wasn’t him. It was a boy named Alan. He thought you should know he received some news which you might want to know. Some news which might be disturbing to you.”
“Alan?” David’s roommate. Somehow he’d located her parents. “What is it, Mother? What did he say?” Susan was losing her patience.
; “It’s about David.”
She clutched the phone.
“Apparently he’s in Vietnam.”
“Yes, Mother, I know.” Get on with it, will you?
“Well, it seems that he’s been listed as Missing in Action.”
Susan dropped the phone.
Susan called the number Alan had left with her mother. Yes, it had been he who called. Yes, it was true. David was missing in action. He disappeared on a patrol in September. September 14. That was all he knew.
Susan sat in stony silence. But where was David now? Was he being tortured? Was he really still alive? Her heart felt as though it were breaking into tiny pieces.
“Why did he go, Alan?” she cried. “Why did he go?”
“He told me you broke up with him, Susan. Then when Kennedy was assassinated … I guess he was disillusioned. About life. About everything.”
“Oh, God, it’s all my fault.”
“No, don’t blame yourself. Besides, it’s not like he’s been—well, he is alive, Susan. He’s just missing. They’ll find him.”
“Alan, will you call me? When they find him?”
“Of course.”
Susan gave him the number at Larch wood. “I’ll only be here a couple more months. Then I’m moving to Boston. I’ll let you know how you can get in touch with me there.”
“Are you at school now?”
Susan hesitated. “No. No, I’m staying with some friends.” Then, after a moment of silence, “Oh, God, Alan, I wish there was something I could do.”
“There’s nothing to do. Pray, I guess.”
P.J.
It had seemed strange to be back in Boston. The sight of centuries-old town houses shaded by amber-leafed maples, the sounds of traffic weaving through the narrow streets, the scent of damp cobblestones: Boston in autumn had a feel like no other city, no other town.
P.J. sat on the veranda at Larchwood, relishing the warmth of the October morning. When Susan had first asked her to go with her, P.J.’s instincts told her to say no. No, she never planned to set foot in that city again. No, she didn’t want to be reminded of Frank. But Susan had been so excited, and P.J. had had few female friends. Only boys. Always boys. Sharing feelings with another girl was foreign to her.
