Kate Jacobs (37 page)

* * *

It was a funny reunion, in a way: Georgia in a
nightdress, her curls sweated to her head, Bess and Tom dressed in suits as
though they were going to an important dinner. They made a motley crew. "I
brought you something," said Tom, and then proceeded to pull out, from a
plastic bag, an old stuffed toy she'd had as a child.
"Thanks, Dad," she said, touched by the gesture but not having
thought about that toy in years.
"I hear you had a good time back at the farm," he said.
"Yes," said Georgia. "And I just sent Gran a letter, told her about
what's been going on."
"So how's things at the store then?"
"Good enough."
"Good, good, that's real good."
It was awkward, straining for conversation, dancing around the Big Topic.
"You're so young," said Bess.
"These things happen, Mom," explained Georgia. "It can be
genetic if there's a cancer history, but in my case it's just a fluke."
Bess paused, then reddened. "Well, my mother went away for a while when I
was young," she said slowly. "A woman's illness, that's all I was
told then. People didn't talk about breast cancer in those days."
Bess began to get teary. "I didn't realize it mattered," she said.
There was a time—before the talks with Gran in Scotland, certainly—when Georgia
would have railed at her mother for not sharing these types of details. For
always holding back. For always holding Georgia at arm's length. But would it
have made her go to the doctor more often if she'd known? Would it have made
the cancer not happen? Probably not.
And now she was having the best, most honest conversation of her life with her
parents. It was surreal. It was great. And she could thank Cat for their
arrival, as Bess admitted she had been the one to call them in Pennsylvania.
"I didn't realize you were still friends with Cathy Anderson." Her
mom had dried her eyes now, seemed even a bit hurt.
"We got over our differences," said Georgia. "I don't see why it
should bother you."
"I just thought you might have told me, that's all."
Georgia cocked her head sideways. Could Bess really think she was the one who
was closed off? It was an intriguing idea.
"Well, if you're into hearing things, I might as well tell you that I'm
back together with James," she said.
"Dakota's father?" Tom's voice boomed around the room.
"Yes."
"I see, I see," he said, stalling, waiting for his wife to react.
"That's nice, Georgia," said Bess, settling into the chair by the
bed. "It's been a long time coming."

* * *

Darwin knew she'd been putting off the talk for
far too long. If there was one thing she'd learned from watching Georgia, it
was that it was hard to see what's coming around the corner.
She hadn't seen her husband in almost seven months, had canceled multiple
prearranged plans to trek out to Los Angeles, and told Dan she was too busy
with her research to spend any time with him when he suggested he make the trip
himself. Her apartment was still a shambles, and her original research was all
but abandoned. The plan to look at the resurgence of knitting as a throwback
had also stalled; to her chagrin and then delight, Darwin found herself quite
liking the handicraft. Even if she was, well, less than good at it.
But there just comes a time, doesn't there? When it's time to face up to
things. She'd done a lot of thinking, and she realized, finally, that she'd
checked out of her marriage a long time ago. Back when she lost the baby. And
if there was any hope of salvaging her relationship with Dan, it was to start
at the beginning. She opened up her instant-message window and hoped to find
him online, too.
Dansgirl
: You there?
Medguy
: Yeah.
Dansgirl
: I have to tell you something.
Medguy
: Miss you.
Dansgirl
: No, big stuff. I have to tell you big
stuff. About the baby.
Medguy
: It's been almost a year.
Dansgirl
: I know. But I didn't want it.
Medguy
: What?
Dansgirl
: I really didn't want to have a baby. I
thought I did. But then I found out I was really pregnant and I did things to
make it go away.
Medguy
:? I'm calling now. Pick up NOW!
The phone rang, and she considered letting it ring. But she couldn't do that to
Dan.
"Hello?"
"I'm not going to get mad, Darwin, but I want you to answer me right now:
Did you have an abortion?"
"No."
"Then what are you talking about?"
"I'm a bad person, Dan. A bad mother. A bad wife."
"It's been months of this, Darwin—you crying into the phone, you not
answering the phone when I know full well you ought to be at home. I want to
help you. I really do. But I don't understand what's wrong."
"Remember how you said I should see a therapist after the baby?"
"Yes."
"I didn't go. I took the money out of our bank account and I, well, I've
used most of it to buy wool. Really expensive wools."
"Okay, well, maybe that will help. Can you even knit?"
"No. Not really. But
Lucie's
teaching me; she
asked me to be her labor coach."
"Are you sure you can handle it?"
"I don't know. I think so. Yes. Well, I don't know. What I think I need to
do first is to wipe my slate clean."
"Where are you going with this? Are you breaking up with me?"
"I never wanted that baby," said Darwin. "I found out I was
pregnant and then I freaked. I went online and read all about old wives'
methods of getting rid of pregnancies, herbs and hot baths and falling down
stairs."
"And did you do something?"
"Yes." Darwin's voice was barely audible. "I wished it
away."
Dan moaned with frustration. He'd been up for thirty hours straight and had
spent the better part of a year trying to get his wife to tell him how she
felt; still, he felt stymied.
"Oh, Darwin, thoughts don't cause miscarriages."
"Yes they can," she said. "I told the baby I didn't want it,
that it was interfering with my plans for graduation. But then I missed it when
it went away. I dream about it."
"First off, it didn't just go away. There was something wrong with the
fetus; it's normal." Dan was using his doctor voice. Authoritative.
"Second, I love you and I want you to know that it's also typical for some
pregnant women to feel ambivalent."
"But it doesn't make any sense! I didn't want it and so it left, and now I
think about that baby all the time," she yelled. "Don't you
understand? It was my body! I was the mommy! And I fucked up, Dan."
She wheezed over the phone line, out of breath, anxious. Pacing around the
apartment, dodging the crazy piles of laundry. The newspapers.
"Why didn't you leave me?" She was making herself frantic.
"What? Over a miscarriage? Darwin, honey, you've made this thing bigger
than it is…"
"It's big to me! It's big to me! I couldn't look at the research on
midwives anymore; I couldn't see a pregnant woman without wanting to
puke."
"Then why are you doing this labor thing with Lucie?"
"Because don't you see? She's including me. She's letting me be part of
it. I can get it right this time."
"Babe, it's
Lucie's
kid. She gets to take it
home from the hospital, not you."
"I know that. You said all year that you wanted me to talk," Darwin
was screeching. "Well, I'm talking now. You went off to Los Angeles and
got all doctored up and I've been sitting here, alone."
"I didn't abandon you, Darwin; we talked about this. We had a plan."
"No, Dan, we talked
around
this. And I don't care if I agreed to
you taking this residency. I've changed my mind. It still feels as though you
walked out on me." She went to the bathroom to turn on the faucet, get a
glass of water.
"Okay, I'll figure out something. I'll quit, I'll I-don't-know-what, but
I'll do something." Dan was alarmed: Darwin could be demanding, she could
be scathing, but she was almost always calm.
"No!"
"What do you mean?"
"Then the past year would be a waste. All the time apart. It can't be a
waste."
"Darwin, you are making no sense."
"I know, I know." She sat down on the bathroom floor.
"Dan?"
"What's going on, baby?"
"There's something else."
"What?"
"I cheated. I slept with another man."
She was about to continue with her confession when she realized.
Dan wasn't on the line anymore.

binding off

You can't keep your garment on needles forever;
eventually it's going to have to exist on its own, supporting itself. The trick
is looping the stitches across each other so they can be pulled away from the
needle without coming all apart.

thirty

Darwin knew she should be working on her
thesis. The
days were ticking by, one by one, and she was no further in her writing than
before August started. But she just couldn't concentrate.
She'd tried Dan's cell about, oh, eight hundred times since telling him. Why
did she admit what she'd done? Surely she could have lived with a guilty
conscience for the rest of her life; surely the pain would have blunted after a
while.
No, she admitted to herself, it probably wouldn't have. Better to live your
life in the open rather than exist on borrowed time, waiting for the great
unmasking.
Lucie picked up on her change in mood immediately; it didn't take much
cross-examination for Darwin to spill it.
"I told my husband I cheated on him," she said dully, as they carried
bags bursting with
onesies
and impossibly small socks
and footie pajamas from Macy's. Soon, they were going to set up the crib and
the nursery. (Just a cleared-out corner of
Lucie's
bedroom.)
"Did you?" asked Lucie, as they waited at the traffic light. No more
jaywalking for the pregnant woman, a hard habit to break for any longtime New
Yorker.
"Yes, with some guy who is friends with
Peri
, if
you can believe it," said Darwin. "I always knew to be suspicious of
knitting. It ended my marriage."
Lucie got a kick out of that one.
"Darwin," she said. "If knitting led to sex, I'd have seen a lot
more action. But I'll admit it: You are filled with surprises." And that
was all. No recriminations. No signs of shock. Or horror. Or declarations that
she'd just lost the post of labor coach. Just a gentle smile and an inquiry, as
Lucie pulled open the door to the corner pizzeria, if she'd prefer pepperoni or
plain cheese.
Actually, she wanted Supreme: Everything on it.
After lunch, she and Lucie took the train up the West Side, wanting to go by
Walker and Daughter.
The shop was still a place of business, of course, but it had also,
unofficially, become the Georgia Update Center, with everyone gathering there
in the afternoon to hear the latest news on the store-owner's condition. Though
there was still the chemo to contend with later, the doctors were cheered by
how quickly she was recovering.
"She's feisty," Anita told them. "It's looking good. She should
be out soon."
"We've played a few hands of Go Fish, and Mom says she's all caught up if
anyone needs an update on every single soap opera," added Dakota. It was a
tough time for the newly minted teen. She'd kept up with her Tuesday and
Thursday drama club—"I paid for the entire session, so you're going!"
Georgia had insisted, even as she packed for the trip to the hospital—and then
spent every afternoon visiting, reenacting relaxation exercises she'd learned
from the drama teacher ("Don't pretend to faint unless someone is going to
catch you," Georgia pointed out) or offering a reading from scenes in the
five-minute play she was writing. ("It's not mandatory," she told her
mother. "I figured I'd just explore my creativity.") The story,
Georgia could see quite easily, was a simple one: A family meets up after years
of being apart and, in the words of the character who was the daughter,
"No one has to go to the hospital so we're all okay."
Georgia had applauded with gusto, doing her best to seem relaxed so that Dakota
never worried but still experiencing post-op pain. She sent her daughter off to
get her a large can of soda and to find Cat, who was probably off in the gift
shop, buying her too many magazines again.
"Don't forget ice," she said to her daughter, before turning to
Anita.
"Dr. Ramirez says it's normal and that you're healing really well,"
said Anita.
"I know, I know, but it still hurts." Georgia was pouty. "Did
you bring the stuff I asked you to?"
"Every day it's something new. First you think you'll knit, then it makes
you too tired. Then you want makeup. Then a sweater. I'm just a pack mule here.
Schlep
schlep
schlep
."
Anita sounded annoyed.
Georgia didn't buy it. Her mentor was trying to distract her and she knew it.
"The bottom drawer in my office desk—did you bring it?"
"What's your rush? We can't do a little bit of visiting here? Let me start
on a list of what else you need." She began to rummage through her purse.
"Anita, c'mon. Let's have this talk."
"You're doing fine."
"Exactly. And that's the perfect time to make sure all my wishes are in
order."
The older woman pulled out the tickler file, the one she'd grabbed from the
bottom drawer, out of a large-handled bag.
"Fine then. Here is all of it: will, insurance, everything." Anita's
mouth was a hard line. She wasn't happy.
"Oh, Mrs. Lowenstein, I do believe you're cranky." Georgia looked
through the papers, things she hadn't looked at in years. Everything was in
order, but it didn't reflect what she really wanted. "My life has changed
a lot in a short time—let's make sure to see a lawyer so I can update some of
this stuff."
Anita made a sound of disapproval.
"You don't need to worry about this now."
"If not now, then when?" And Georgia had stuck out her tongue and
laughed, welcoming Dakota back as she carried in the Sprite and handing off the
papers to Anita.
"It is what it is, Anita," she said cryptically so Dakota couldn't
follow the conversation. "Now let's talk about what we're going to do when
I'm out of here."
"We could have a party in the shop," suggested Dakota. "With
confetti and a disco ball. I could make Shirley Temples and brownies."
"Excellent," said Georgia, pretending to be impressed.
"We could just have rest and relaxation at my apartment," piped up
Anita. "A lot of peace and quiet."
"Or we could do what Georgia wants and take me home."
Anita sat on the edge of the bed and squeezed Georgia's hand.
"We'll be in a car the minute Dr. Ramirez signs the paperwork,
sweetheart," she said. "Don't you worry."
Back at the shop after that visit, Anita had filled in Darwin and Lucie on the
specifics: she'd wanted Georgia to stay at the San Remo, but to no one's
surprise, Georgia was insisting on coming home to her apartment. A home-care
nurse would take care of the dressings and Cat would still be there, having
moved in to be Dakota's "roommate," taking up residence on an
Aerobed
on the floor. (The floor!) And James would be
around a lot of the time, too. But all their help was still needed to keep the
shop going even with Georgia out of the hospital.
"I know I've hardly been around and so much has fallen on
Peri
," Anita said.
"And me," piped up K.C.
"And me," said Lucie, who'd taken to doing evening shifts.
"And me," said Darwin, who sat in the back office many nights,
pretending to write but really just afraid to go home. To see the answering
machine that had no messages and smell the regret that scented the air.
"Yes, you've all helped, and it's just been wonderful. Thank you."
Anita looked pleased but tired.