Bitter Sweet (61 page)

As he slipped them on, the pink card came into focus.

Suzanne Marian Stearn.

His response was as swift and as total as passion. Such a wave, like a powerful breaker sweeping him to the ceiling and slamming him back down. It roared in his ears- or was it his own pulse beat? It stung his eyes - or was it his own tears? It left him fulfilled and yearning, satisfied and empty, wishing he had never come this far yet certain he would have broken the limbs of anyone who’d tried to stop him.

Father love. Mindless and reactionary, yet more real and swift than any love he had ever before experienced.

Her hair was the length, texture and colour of a dandelion seed. It erupted in a perfect crescent around her head, as blonde as his in his baby pictures, as Anna’s, as Anna’s mother before her.

‘Suzanne?’ he whispered, touching the glass.

She was red and disgruntled, her face tufted by temper, her eyes concealed in delicate pillows of pink as she cried.

Within a white flannel blanket her feet churned in outrage.

Watching, isolated by a quarter inch of transparent glass, he suffered a longing so intense he actually reached for her, flattening a palm upon the window. Never had he felt so thwarted. So denied.

Pick her up! Somebody pick her up! She’s wet, or hungry, or she has a stomach ache, can’t you see? Or maybe the lights are too bright in there or she wants her hands uncovered. Somebody uncover her hands. I want to see her hands!

Through the glass he heard her squall, a faint mewling sound not unlike that of a killdeer heard at a distance.

A nurse came, smiling, and lifted Suzanne from the sterile glass crib, talking to the infant in a way that shaped her lips like a keyhole. Her nametag said Sheila Helgeson, a pretty young woman with brown hair and dimples, a stranger to Eric. She cradled the baby on one arm and freed Suzanne’s trembling chin from the folds of the undershirt, facing her toward Eric. At the touch, the baby quieted with amusing quickness while her mouth opened and sought sustenance.

When none materialized, Suzanne howled afresh, her face pruned and colouring.

Sheila Helgeson bounced her gently then looked up and smiled at the man beyond the glass.

‘It’s time to feed her.’ He read the nurse’s lips and suffered an extraordinary deluge of loss as she carried the baby away. Come back! I’m her father and I can’t come here again!

He felt a thickening in his throat, a constriction across his chest closely resembling fear. He was grabbing air with quick, short breaths, standing with his entire body
como
pressed in an effort at control.

He turned and walked away, his footsteps rapping like rimshots in the empty hall. A simple question was all it would take and he’d know Maggie’s room number. He could walk in and sit beside her bed and take her hand and . . and what? Mourn this impasse together? Tell her he still loved her? He was sorry? Burden her further?

No, the kindest thing he could do for her was to walk out of here.

In the elevator, riding down to ground floor, he leaned his head back against the wall and shut his eyes, battling the urge to cry. The doors opened and there stood Brookie, holding a big purple florist’s sack.

Neither of them moved until the doors began closing, and Eric halted them, stepping out. The doors thumped together and the two stood before them, grave, uncertain what to say to one another.

‘Hallo, Brookie.’

‘Hello, Eric.’

There was no use pretending. ‘Don’t tell her I was here.’

‘She’d want to know.”

‘All the more reason not to tell her.’

“So you’ve patched things up with your wife?’

‘We’re working on it.’ His face held no joy while admitting it. “What’s Maggie going to do about her business?’

‘She’s closed the inn to guests for now. She’s thinking of putting it up for sale in the spring.’

Another blow. He closed his eyes. ‘Oh, Jesus.’

‘She thinks it’s best if she lives someplace else.’

It took a moment of silence before he could speak again.

‘If you hear she needs help - any kind of help - will you let me know?’

“Of course.’

‘Thanks, Brookie.’

‘Sure. Now, listen, you take care.’

‘I will, and please don’t tell her I was here.’

She lifted a hand in good-bye, careful to make no promises as she watched Eric head for the lobby doors. On her way to Maggie’s room, she reflected upon her responsibility as a friend - to divulge or not to divulge - which would Maggie have her do? Maggie still loved Eric, but she was working hard at surmounting and surviving his loss.

Brookie walked into Maggie’s room just as a nurse was putting the baby into her arms.

‘Hiya, Mag, how they hanging?’ she greeted.

Maggie looked up and hughed, accepting the baby and a bottle.

‘Not too bad right now, but in a day or so when the milk comes in they’ll be hangin’ like a couple of water balloons.

But look it here what I got.’

“Ah, the long-awaited offspring.’ Brookie plunked down the plant and walked straight to the bed as the nurse left the room. ‘Hiya, Suzanna Banana, how does it feel to be in low humidity? My God, Mag, what a looker. Crossed eyes and everything!’

Maggie’s laughter bounced the baby. ‘You brought flowers?’

‘For the kid, not for you.’

‘Then open them, so she can see.’

‘All right, I will.’ Brookie tore open the purple paper.

‘Now look here, Suzanne, this is a gloxinia - can you say gloxinia? Go ahead, try it- glox-in-ee-a. What the hell, Maggie, the kid can’t even say gloxinia yet? What are you raising here, a moron?’

Brookie always brought her own brand of love: impudence and humour. In time Maggie got a hug, and Brookie said, ‘Nice goin’, kid. She’s beautiful.’ A few minutes later
Roy
showed up carrying a teddy bear the size of an easy chair, and a bouquet of mums and daisies, which he discarded the moment he saw his granddaughter. They were all adulating the baby when Tani walked in followed fifteen minutes later by Elsie Beecham, a lifelong next—door neighbour of the Pearsons. Given all the commotion and visiting, Brookie never got the chance to tell Maggie about Eric’s visit.

Maggie’s happiness over the birth of Suzanne was shadowed by moments of great melancholy. During her hospital stay the absence of Vera cut deep. She’d tried to arm herself for it in advance, realizing it would be self-deluding to hope Vera might change her mind after all, but when Roy came on his second visit Maggie couldn’t resist asking, ‘Is Mother coming?’

His face and voice became apologetic. ‘No, dear, I’m afraid she’s not.’ Maggie saw how he tried to make up for Vera’s cold indifference but no amount of fatherly attention could ease Maggie’s hurt at being shunned by her mother at a time that should, instead, have drawn them closer.

Then there was the matter of Katy.
Roy
had called her to tell her the baby had been born, but no call came from her.

No letter. No flowers. Recalling Katy’s parting riposte, Maggie would find tears in her eyes at the idea of the two sisters who would be strangers to one another, and a daughter who apparently was lost to her.

And of course she thought of Eric. She lamented the loss of him as she had the loss of Phillip when he died. She mourned, too, for his loss, for the anguish he must be suffering, undoubtedly having heard of Suzanne’s birth.

She wondered about his relationship with his wife and how the birth of this illegitimate daughter affected it.

Late in the afternoon of the second day she was lying resting, thinking of him when a voice said, ‘Ah, somebody loves you!’

Into the room came a pair of legs carrying a huge vase of flowers surrounded by green tissue paper. From behind it emerged a grey head and a merry face.

‘Mrs Stearn?’ It was a hospital volunteer dressed in a mauve-coloured smock.

‘Yes. ‘

‘Flowers for you.’

‘For me?’ Maggie sat up.

‘Roses, no less.”

‘But I’ve got flowers from everyone I know.’ By now she was surrounded by them. They had come from so many unexpected sources - Brookie, Fish and Lisa (Brookie had called them), Althea Munne, the owners of the store where Roy worked, Roy himself, even Mark Brodie on behalf of the chamber of commerce.

‘My goodness, there must be two dozen of them here,’ the volunteer chattered as she set them down on Maggie’s rolling table.

‘Is there a card?’

The grandmotherly woman investigated the waxy green tissue. ‘None that I can see. Maybe the florist forgot to include it. Well, enjoy!’

When she was gone, Maggie removed the tissue and when she saw what waited inside tears stung her eyes and she pressed a hand to her lips. No, the florist had not forgotten the card. No card was necessary.

The roses were pink.

He did not come, of course, but the flowers told her what it cost him not to and left her feeling bereaved each time she looked at them.

Someone else came, however, someone so unexpected, Maggie was stunned by her appearance. It was later that evening, and Roy had returned- his third visit- this time bringing Maggie a bag of Peanut M & M’s and a book called A Victorian Posit, a collection of quaintly illustrated poems printed on scented paper. Maggie had her nose to a page, inhaling the musky scent of lavender when she sensed someone watching and raised her head to find Anna Severson standing in the doorway. ‘Oh!’ she exclaimed, experiencing an immediate flash of angst.

‘I didn’t know if I’d be welcome or not, so I thought I’d better ask before I came in,’ Anna said. Her curls were extra kinky for the occasion and she wore a red quilted nylon jacket over polyester double-knit slacks of painfully royal blue.

Roy
glanced from Maggie to Anna but decided to let Maggie handle the situation.

When she found her voice again, Maggie said, ‘Of course you’re welcome, Anna. Come in.’

‘Hallo,
Roy
,’ Anna said solemnly, entering the room.

‘How are you, Anna?’

‘Well, I’m not exactly sure. ‘Those damn kids of mine treat me like I haven’t got a brain in my head, as if I can’t figure out what’s going on here. Makes a person get a little tetchy, don’t y’ know. I certainly haven’t come here to embarrass you, Maggie, but it appears to me I’ve got a new grandchild, and - grandchildren being a blessing I’m particularly partial to - I wondered if you’d mind if I took a look at her.’

‘Oh, Anna... Maggie managed before she started getting misty and raised both arms in welcome, Anna moved straightaway to hug her, soothing, ‘There, there...’ patting her roughly on the back.

Roy
’s support had been welcome, but a woman’s presence had been needed. Feeling the arms of Eric’s mother close around her, Maggie felt some of the emotional void filled. ‘I’m so glad you came and that you know about the baby.’

‘I wouldn’t of, if Barbara hadn’t told me. Those two boys would’ve let me go to my grave none the wiser, the dumn fools. But Barbara, she thought I ought to know, and when I asked if she’d drive me down here she was more than happy to.’

Drawing back, Maggie looked up into Anna’s seamed face. ‘So Eric doesn’t know you’re here?’

‘Not yet he don’t, but he will when I get home.’

‘Anna, you mustn’t be angry with him. It was as much my fault as his - more, in fact.’

‘I got a right to be angry. And disappointed, too! Heck, it’s no secret that that boy’s wanted a baby worse than anything I ever saw, and now he’s got one and damned if he ain’t married to the wrong woman. I tell you, it’s a sorry situation. You mind telling me what you’re going to do?’

I’ll raise her myself, but beyond that I’m not sure yet.’

‘You plan to tell her who her father is?’

‘Every child deserves to know that.’

Anna gave a brusque nod of approval, then turned to
Roy
.

‘Well,
Roy
, are we supposed to congratulate each other or what?’

‘I don’t know, Anna, but I don’t think it would hurt.’

‘Where’s Vera?’

‘Vera’s at home.’

‘She out of sorts over this, or what?’

‘You might say that.’

Anna looked at Maggie. ‘Ain’t it funny how some people will act in the name of honour? Well, I’d sure like to see my new granddaughter. No, Maggie, you just rest.
Roy
, you don’t mind walkin’ me down there to the nursery, do you?’

‘I don’t mind a bit.’

A minute later they stood together, studying their sleeping grandchild through a big glass window, an old man with a smile on his face and an old woman with a glint of tears in her eyes.

“My, she’s a beauty,’ Anna said.

‘She certainly is.’

‘My thirteenth one, but just as special as the first.’

‘Only my second, but I missed out on a lot with my first one, being so far away from her. This one though...’ His fading words told clearly that he had plenty of dreams.