Sailing Lessons

by Hannah McKinnon

  As he lay in the motel room waiting for sleep to find him, he pictured each of them tucked into their own beds. Wren to the north on Queen Anne Road, Piper and Lindy to the east in town, and Shannon to his west in Stage Harbor. All the bright points of his life spanning out like points of a constellation, with him at its center.

  Twenty-Four

  Wren

  Lucy did not understand. “Where has your daddy been?”

  Wren ran the brush through her daughter’s baby-fine hair. “Ponytail or braid?” she asked.

  Lucy looked up at her mother in the mirror. “Ponytail. But where was he?”

  It was the question that had shadowed the Bailey women their whole lives. Every Christmas in that moment where you found yourself sitting by the tree, the whole room illuminated in light and laughter, your loved ones close—there would be that sinking pause when you remembered someone wasn’t here. It was the same with Wren’s eighth-grade graduation ceremony at school, the first major milestone she celebrated (though endured might’ve better described it) after Caleb left. It happened every year, though the traditional holidays became easier. It was the odd ones that caught you off guard—like when she lost her first molar. Their dad had always risen first and tucked a seashell under their pillow from the tooth fairy. It would be a unique one—pearly pink or golden. A special shape. That first time she sat up in bed and slipped her hand under the pillow out of habit, her fingers searching against the cool cotton underside and finding nothing. Those were the things that surprised you.

  “My father has been living in Arizona,” Wren said, carefully. “But now he’s here to visit.” She’d read in a parenting article some time ago that when children ask difficult questions, honesty was best, but there was no need to go overboard with details. The article had advised that you start with the simple bites of information and see if that satisfied the child. As Lucy contemplated this answer, Wren swept her hair up and secured it with a pink elastic. “How’s that?” she asked.

  Lucy turned her head to and fro, her ponytail swishing in the mirror. “Good, Mama.” She turned and looked up at Wren. “So, is he my grampa now?”

  Wren studied her daughter’s tiny upturned nose. The curiosity in her wide brown eyes. “Yes, I suppose he is.” She held her breath, waiting for the sensible follow up: “What about my dad?” But this time Lucy didn’t ask. Satisfied, she marched to her bed and grabbed her stuffed elephant. “I’m hungry. Can we eat breakfast now?” That was all.

  As Wren stirred pancake mix in a bowl, she thought about the complications of her family. Beverly was on her way up to the Cape for her annual visit now. She was taking the train from South Carolina, stopping in Delaware to see friends in Rehoboth, then again in New York, before arriving in Chatham. Lucy had spent part of every summer with her great-grandmother since birth. After Beverly, all Lucy had in the grandparents department were Hank and Lindy. Technically Hank was a step-grandparent, though Wren had certainly never thought of him as such. For a man with no children of his own, he excelled at this whole family thing. And let’s face it, her family was a lot.

  But a family unit was important to a child’s sense of self. Wren had always been sensitive to the fact that Lucy was not only without a father, but there was also the loss of what a father could bring into her life. Another set of grandparents! Uncles and aunts! Cousins! James had all of those things. Lately Wren was left with the sense that she’d provided her child with only half of a family.

  Her mind wandered to the last week she’d had with James. They were living in the little apartment over Main Street, and his bags were packed for Washington. Late-night conversations that turned into arguments. James was set in a way she had not seen before. It left her feeling alone, alone with a growing baby between them. Several times she almost told him, especially when she was angry. But she couldn’t share the news. Not in that spirit.

  She pictured her mother and sisters, and then she pictured herself with the new baby so far away from all of them. And James out at sea. It wasn’t fair, since he didn’t know about the baby, but she grew angry. “I don’t see where I fit in,” she said. “I need time.”

  By the end of the week she was packing her own bags. “What are you doing?” James asked when she filled a duffel bag with some of her things.

  “I’m going to stay with my sister Shannon. I don’t want to fight anymore. I can’t think clearly.”

  James scoffed, and a sneer flickered across his face. “Your sisters. I have never understood this bond you three have. It’s like none of you can make a decision without checking with the others. Is she the one who’s telling you to stay home?”

  Wren grabbed her bag. “How dare you talk about my family that way?”

  “I thought I was your family!” It was the one time she’d ever seen him completely lose his temper. James swung away from her, his face full of disgust, and punched the wall. There was a sickening thud of flesh against Sheetrock as his hand sunk into the wall. Gray Sheetrock splintered, falling to the floor with a puff.

  “Stop it!” Wren cried.

  James tucked his hand against his stomach, but Wren could already see the trail of blood running down to his elbow.

  “Fuck,” he muttered.

  “Let me see.” Wren was crying, but she reached for his hand. “James, please.”

  “Just go,” he said, turning away. He went to the sink and ran the tap. Wren watched as the water washed red into the basin. His knuckles were split, and a large gash ran down the center of his hand.

  “You need stitches,” she cried.

  James spun around. “I said, ‘Go!’ ”

  She grabbed her duffel and walked around him, flinging the door open. Head down, she raced down the back stairs until she burst outside to the alley behind Main Street. The sun was impossibly bright, and the street was clogged with the happy hum of tourists. Wren blinked in the brightness of it all. As she rounded the corner a woman pushed a baby stroller past with twin girls. One smiled up at her. Wren slung her bag over her shoulder and walked head down toward School Street. James never called. Though she knew this was probably best for both of them, she spent the rest of the week crying herself to sleep at night, the phone tucked beneath her pillow just in case.

  The others had firm thoughts on all of it, and as usual none hesitated to dispense them. “He’s selfish,” Shannon said. “This is his dream, not yours.”

  Their mother struggled to make sense of it, and Wren shied out from under the umbrella of her scrutiny. “This doesn’t sound like you and James,” she said. “Are you sure nothing else is going on?’

  “He called us codependent,” Wren shared. The words felt unkind coming out of her mouth, as if she were betraying James’s confidence. She knew he’d said it in a moment of anger, and she could also see he might have a point. But as she predicted, it was the nail in the coffin for Shannon.

  “Screw him. He doesn’t know anything about us.”

  “You’re too young to hitch your wagon to one guy,” Piper allowed. “Let him go out there. I don’t think he’ll like it as much as he thinks. Who knows? Maybe he’ll come back.”

  But Lindy seemed to consider this. “I disagree,” she said, finally. “But he may have a point about staying in Chatham.” She looked around the table at her daughters’ faces. “Have I ever made any of you feel like I expect or want you to stick around here?”

  Piper actually laughed. “Hello? Boston dweller, who doesn’t plan to ever move back.”

  Shannon threw her a look. “No, Mom. Reid and I were both very happy to make a life here. It’s a wonderful place to raise the kids.”

  “Only you can afford it,” Piper added.

  Shannon ignored the slight, but this was one thing that worried Wren. Chatham was a resort town, and the taxes were high. How long would her little apartment suffice? She couldn’t imagine lugging a baby stroller up and down the narrow back stairs. Where would the baby sleep? These were considerations that had begun to dist
ract her from James. With each passing day, they became more real concerns.

  “I love Chatham,” Wren assured her mother. “But it’s also because all of you are here. I want my kids to be close to family.” They all looked at her. “Someday,” she added quickly.

  Morning sickness found her almost immediately. The smell of eggs in her mother’s kitchen made her stomach roil. The sight of meat on the grill caused her to flee from the room. But she still hadn’t told them yet. At night she soothed herself reading What to Expect in her bed. She’d borrowed it from the Eldredge Library and kept it tucked beneath her mattress like the worry dolls her father had brought back from an assignment in South Dakota when she was little. They were tiny wire dolls dressed in Southwestern prints, their miniature mouths painted red. Her father told her to place a worry doll under the mattress to ward off bad dreams. Now, she kept the pregnancy book there. Only the more she read, the less worried she was. As she paged through she was fascinated by the growth of the fetus, even in the first few weeks. She couldn’t believe it when she read that the baby’s brain and spinal cord were already forming!

  Wren knew James was leaving town the day after the Hooker’s Ball. That whole week, neither had broken down and reached out to the other. It filled her with as much anger as it did sadness. They were both as stubborn as the other, only James didn’t know what was at stake. Wren knew she had to cut him loose. James was too young, too full of wanderlust to settle down and start a family. And she knew more than anyone what that was like for a child.

  She also knew what it would do to James. If he learned she was pregnant, he would want to do the right thing and stay in Chatham, even if it went against every grain of who he was. The thought of him giving up on his dreams would be the death of all of them. Her way was better: it would set all of them free. Even if it broke her heart pulling the trigger.

  Wren’s plan was simple if brutal. The day before the Ball she reached out to her old flame, Darby Vale, who she’d dated on and off during college summers. She’d run into Darby a couple times over the years, and she knew that he still came up from New York to visit his parents on summer weekends. James had never liked Darby. He’d found him pompous and pampered, both of which were reasons Wren had broken up with him years ago. But she needed Darby for what was to follow.

  To her surprise, Darby was quick to reply to her voice mail. Yes, he was on the Cape. Yes, he was free for the Hooker’s Ball. If she weren’t feeling so poorly about what she was doing, she might actually have enjoyed the ease with which her plans were rapidly unfolding.

  That night Wren stole one of Piper’s dresses from her closet. A bright-colored, snug-fitting pink number that showed off her long legs and tanned shoulders. She spent extra time curling her long hair, not because she liked it that way, but because it would look so different. James loved her long hair worn down and straight, her face clean and natural. Fussing over her appearance with makeup and hair would send a message that things were different, that she was different.

  When she walked under the twinkling lights of the white tent on Darby’s arm, she felt like an imposter. Beverly had taken one look at her outfit, and her brow had knit in silent disapproval. But she graciously kissed her granddaughter’s cheek in greeting. Shannon was not as demure. “What are you wearing?”

  Wren had tugged self-consciously at the short hem. “What? It’s Piper’s.”

  “I can see that. What’s it doing on you?”

  Wren ignored her, reintroducing her family to Darby. This part seemed to please Beverly, even if it raised an eyebrow from Lindy. Now more than ever, Wren could’ve used a drink. A double pour of gin with lime. Anything to fuel her falsity. Instead she’d have to stick to club sodas, but she’d do her best to make sure she gave the illusion she was drinking. She ran a hand over her still-flat tummy and scanned the crowd for James.

  Darby was oblivious to her nerves and her wiles. He was his usual self, leading her around the crowd and blathering on about his work in New York, the renovations his family was doing to their Barn Hill house, his squash game. This worked for her even if it drove her crazy, and she indulged him, running her hand up and down his arm encouragingly at each cringe-worthy joke he told. Tossing her head back along with his friends in laughter. Others turned to look at them. Her choice of date had been masterful.

  Just as the band started up, she spotted James. He was standing to the side with friends. Friends she knew and adored and would’ve given her left arm to join on any other night. He was dressed up in a taupe linen suit, his only good summer suit, and he’d just had his hair cut. The vulnerable sun-kissed nape of his neck was visible over his collared shirt, and she felt the urge to go to him and place her hand on it.

  As if feeling the weight of her eyes on his back, James turned. At the sight of her, he forgot himself. He smiled. Wren almost smiled back. But the initial spark of joy vanished from his expression as he understood. The garish dress. Darby’s arm around her waist. His mouth opened as if he was going to say something across the wide grassy expanse between them. She would hate herself for the rest of her life for what she did next. She squeezed Darby’s arm hard. When he turned she grabbed his face between her hands and kissed him full on the mouth. She could feel his surprise, as their lips didn’t quite match up and he’d been midsentence. But then he pulled her closer and stuck his tongue in her mouth.

  When they parted Darby licked his lips playfully. The couple with them chuckled and Wren forced a smile, even though she felt sick to her stomach. When she dared a look back, James was gone. Darby brought her a gin and tonic, which she promptly dumped in a flower arrangement when he wasn’t looking. It didn’t matter what she ate or drank; for the rest of the night she couldn’t get the coppery taste of deceit out of her mouth.

  At the end of the week she learned that James had moved to Washington. She’d continued to see Darby on occasion to keep up the pretense that they were together, though to his frustration she’d kept it strictly platonic. Luckily for her he was tied up most of the summer in New York, and though he invited her to come down several times, she never did. She was almost certain he was dating other women, which was fine with her. They were not together, despite his efforts. By summer’s end he grew tired of her chasteness. If Darby ever found out she was pregnant, she didn’t know. There was no reason for him to think it was theirs.

  James reached out to her only once. From time to time she might run into his friends around town. This time, she was shopping at Chatham Market and bumped into Murphy, his buddy from the Pier. He noted her protruding belly with unchecked surprise. They exchanged quick pleasantries. The next day James called. His voice was soft, and if she wasn’t mistaken, hopeful. “How are things?”

  Wren saved them both from strained niceties. “I’m pregnant,” she said.

  James paused. “Is it . . . ?”

  “No,” she lied. “No, it’s not yours.”

  Was she making the biggest mistake of her life? Of his?

  But while she lay wiping tears off her cheeks and questioning her motives, the baby kicked. Wren placed both hands on her burgeoning belly. She decided she could do this. Whether she was ready or not, she would do it for both of them.

  • • •

  “Is breakfast ready?” Lucy raced up behind her and threw her arms around her mother’s waist.

  “Ready as ever,” Wren said wryly. She had to stop second-guessing herself. Lucy was fine, and so was she. And there were other important matters that needed her attention. “Let’s eat. We’re late for the shop.”

  The phone rang, and Lucy picked it up and studied the screen. “It says Arizona,” she said, holding it out to her mother.

  Wren looked. Was it the same Arizona number that had called before? But her father was here, now. And it wasn’t his cell phone, which he’d given her. “Wrong number,” she said, putting it down. “Let’s get going.”

  When they pulled into the lot behind the store, Wren noticed someone standing
outside the front door. It wasn’t Ari.

  Piper stood outside, her arms wrapped around herself even though the day was already promising to be a hot one. “Hey Lucy, girl!” she said, scooping her up for a big hug. But the look she gave Wren over her niece’s tiny shoulders spelled something else entirely. “Can I come in?” she asked.

  Knowing that they’d be spending a good deal of time in the shop, Wren had organized provisions to keep Lucy happily entertained. Wren reached under the counter and handed the basket of goods to her daughter. Lucy’s face lit up. There was an assortment of craft supplies, including a box of newly sharpened colored pencils, a green kitty cat journal, a spool of sparkly thread, and a tiny mason jar full of seashells. Lucy shrieked with delight and disappeared into one of the dressing rooms, pulling the curtain tightly closed behind her.

  Piper raised her eyebrows.

  “That’s her ‘office,’ ” Wren explained. She flicked on the lights, turned on some light music and pushed the stool toward Piper. “So, what’s going on?” she asked, keeping her voice low.

  “I’m home for good,” Piper said.

  “Because of Dad?”

  Piper shook her head gravely. “Because I fucked up.”

  Wren threw a cautionary look over her shoulder toward the dressing room and turned the radio up. “Jesus, Piper. Come on.”

  “Sorry. See what I mean?” she put her head in her hands.

  Wren wanted to understand, but she didn’t have time for theatrics or, honestly, any more trouble. She thought about Piper at dinner the night before. She had seemed edgy, especially when asked about her work and school life. But Wren had expected that, with their father being there and all. “It can’t be that bad. You just finished school, you’ll find a job soon enough.”

  “Everything I own is crammed into the back of my car. But Mom and Hank haven’t even noticed, there’s so much going on. And I don’t have the heart to tell them—partly because there’s so much going on.”