“That’s good.” As Maddie started to stand, she noticed that her belly looked watermelon-swollen. Not that her father would recognize it for what it was.But a woman would, she thought. Other than the women who’d come and gone with cakes and casseroles these past weeks, she had only walked around when Grandma or Francine were there. Maybe Grandma’s vision had faded enough, and Francine was too wrapped up in the hustle of the restaurant, for either of them to have noticed. Still, she quickly sat down again, in case Stephen was more aware than she gave him credit for.
“Your grandmother’s not back from her appointment?”
Maddie scowled. Then she remembered Joe saying last week that he would take Grandma to the hospital today for her annual checkup.Good thing you didn’t go there after all, she thought.Bumping into her grandmother in the halls of Martha’s Vineyard Hospital would have called for an explanation.
“No, she’s not here yet,” she said, then added, “On second thought, would you mind making the tea? You’re right. Waiting tables is hard work.”
“Coming up. Lavender?” Good dad that he was, he ambled into the kitchen, while Maddie tried hiding her belly with Grandma’s hand-knit throw.
“Sounds great. Thanks, Dad.” While his back was turned, she got up from the sofa and quickly moved to the kitchen chair. She knew her hide-and-seek behavior was ridiculous, but since checking that wand, she felt as if her belly was now a billboard. Painted in neon. With giant spotlights on it.
“Sandwich? Someone brought us ham.”
“Okay. And a slice of cheese? Maybe a few chips?” She was hungry. She would, however, have to clean up her diet if she was going to go through with having the baby—a phrase that suddenly caught her off balance. Though Maddie never had a problem with others who made a different choice, she knew it wouldn’t work for her. Instead, she would face whatever came with raising the child; after all, she was fortunate to be a well-educated, responsible woman. Somehow, she would manage to embrace the situation and be grateful for what lay ahead.
There, she thought.Decision resolved.
“Rex called yesterday,” she managed to say.
Her father let out a whistle. “Really? Wow. How is he? How did he sound?”
“He was kind of groggy and hard to understand, but his nurse took the phone and said he’s doing well considering what he’s been through.” They weren’t nurse Beth’s exact words, but close enough.
“Well, that’s great news,” Stephen said.
She nodded, determined not to cry. And then, as her father set the plate and the tea in front of her, she did.
“Madelyn …?” he asked.
She briskly wiped her cheeks. “Sorry. I feel so bad for all he’s been going through.”
“We all do.”
She nodded again.
He walked back to the kitchen. “Maybe he’ll be home before we know it.”
She wondered if he had a clue that she and Rex had become more than friends. Then she remembered the card in Rex’s bureau drawer and cradled her belly again.
“In the meantime,” Stephen said, “I have something that might cheer you up.” He returned to the table and put several packets of coated cardboard next to her plate. “Paint chips from the hardware store. Kevin said there’s no hurry, as long as he can order by April. You only need to pick the shades you want. I brought blues and greens and whites and ivories. I can get other colors, if you’d rather.”
She wiped her cheeks and forced a smile. “These will be fine. Thanks, Dad.”
“Oh, and there’s this,” Stephen added, pulling an envelope from his pocket and handing it to her. “I found it sticking out from under a rock at the front door.”
One of the worst parts about being ninety is when you forget things you wish you could remember, and remember things you wish you could forget.
In my day, I was pretty smart for a girl. But even those who weren’t like me had rough times, too, like back in the early ’60s when codfish were abundant. As a fisherman, and a good one at that, Butchie got caught up in the glory and the greed; how was he to know he was contributing to the overfishing, making matters worse for those yet to come?
Not that he lived long enough to know.
He went out one day alone. His fishing and business partner, Evelyn Morgan’s father (I forget his first name—the last one was Davis) warned him against it, said a storm was brewing at Georges Bank—their favorite spot. But Butchie saw big dollar signs, a chance to do some serious investing for our future.
Some future it turned out to be. The storm was worse than predicted. Butchie’s boat capsized out there in the Bank, bringing Butchie down with it.
So that’s one thing I remember I wish I could forget. Maybe the older somebody gets, more things like that come back to haunt them. If we could pick and choose our memories, we might not be afraid who might find out what, or the stuff that would fall to pieces after that.
Like what could happen now.
