Nantucket Sisters (20 page)

Dread flushes Maggie, as if she’s inhaled dry ice and it’s freezing her veins. “No.” She rolls over. “Oh, Mom. It can’t be.”

“I don’t mean to scare you, but when did you have your last period?”

Maggie presses trembling fingers to her eyes, trying to remember. “I don’t know,” she whispers. “Maybe not since the middle of December. But, Mom—oh, my God.”

“Look,” Frances decides practically. “Before you spin into freak mode, let’s find out, okay?”

“Okay,” Maggie whispers.

“Tell you what, I’ll go buy a pregnancy test.” When Frances rises, the bed creaks lightly, like a baby’s whimper.

The ski lodge in Stowe, Vermont, is decorated in a rustic style, all open beams and fires in stone-faced fireplaces, but the rooms are luxurious and modern. Cameron’s boss, John Endicott, and his wife, Cornelia, had seen on the snow report that Saturday would be a perfect day to ski, so they booked the firm’s private plane, a nine-seater. The other partner, Clark Streeter, and his wife, Mindy, flew up, too. The Streeters are an ancient couple, so they choose to
snowshoe around the grounds before cuddling up in front of the fire with books. Cornelia Endicott is fifty, but a tremendous athlete, a better skier than her husband. Emily is good, but it’s been a while since she’s skied, and she is grateful that Cameron matched his pace on the slopes to hers.

Her morning sickness faded the moment she stepped into the private plane and disappeared completely as she skied over the pristine white powder. Her legs felt strong and flexible, her heart pumped out energy, and her senses expanded with pleasure at the beauty of the world. She’d forgotten this, the exhilaration of winter sports.

Now as she stands under the steaming hot water in the glass shower, her sensation of delight continues. So many little, seemingly insignificant moments happened today, and Emily smiles smugly as she reviews them. The way Cameron introduced her to the Endicotts and the Streeters, subtly stressing her last name, Porter, which naturally led his boss to ask Emily if her father was Peter Porter, the financial lawyer. The glances the Endicotts and Streeters exchanged when Emily told them that yes, he was. When Cornelia Endicott told Emily she knew Emily’s mother, Cara, from charity work, Cameron looked pleased. Emily’s acquaintance is an asset to him.

But is that the only reason he invited her here?

Emily comes out of the bathroom wearing a fluffy white terry-cloth robe, her hair wrapped in a towel, her entire body flushed with the heat of a hot shower.

Cameron’s waiting, stripped naked for his shower. His body is narrow and slender, and while not bulky with muscle, it is fit and firm. Elegant, a greyhound’s racing body.

He sees her looking and grins. “Uh-uh. You have to wait. We have to meet the others for drinks and dinner.” He brushes past her as he moves into the bathroom. “I won’t be long.”

Emily pulls on her black tights and Icelandic sweater. She pulls her hair back with a headband and applies the minimum of makeup.
Her morning sickness has almost disappeared, and her belly’s still flat. But her breasts are larger than normal, and they tingle. She won’t think about that this weekend.

Steam rolls through the room as Cameron comes out. He dresses in corduroy trousers and a flannel shirt. “So what do you think?”

“I think this is a perfect weekend,” Emily tells him, enunciating carefully as she applies her lipstick at the old-fashioned vanity table.

“Do you like the Endicotts?” Cameron brushes his blond hair, and he’s ready.

“I do.” Emily gives herself one last assessment in the mirror and stands. “The Streeters are a bit … old-fashioned …”

“Well, of course. Clark and Mindy are a million years old.”

“True. I do like Cornelia. She’s fun, and she’s a fabulous athlete.”

“Good,” Cameron says. “I’m glad you like her.”

As he opens the door and ushers Emily out of the room, Emily wonders why Cameron’s glad. She’s had the sense over the past month that he’s been vetting her, putting her through her paces in front of friends and family. Does he want to marry her?

Does Emily want to marry him?

She wonders what Ben is doing.

Frances and Maggie sit together on her bed, watching the second hand of Frances’s watch click around the tiny round face.

When the time’s up, they lift the indicator and read the color: blue.

“Blue as baby’s booties,” Frances says.

Maggie covers her face with her hands.

Back in Amherst after their ski weekend, Emily strolls through a baby care store to see how it feels. To her surprise, the sight of it all
enchants her: the sweet little furniture, the bassinets and cradles, the musical mobiles, and especially the miniature clothes, with the cotton as soft as baby powder. They’re all the most seductive things she’s ever set eyes on.

She has to be sure.

Emily goes to a pharmacy across from the public library, off campus, where she’s not likely to run into anyone. She buys a pregnancy test, then hurries into the library and down the stairs to the rest-room. Here, in the silent basement of this majestic institution, she takes the test.

One last time she calls Ben’s cell. This is it, Emily decides. Here we go, Fate, she thinks, she prays, I’m rolling the dice. You make the call.

Ben doesn’t pick up.

She calls Cameron. He answers. Emily invites him to dinner at her parents’ home in New York that Friday night.

Emily’s parents have left for their Florida house, so Emily tells the other grad students she has a family emergency (well, she does), finds her little Touareg in the underground garage, and drives down from the university into the city.

Snow falls on Manhattan, transformed by the streetlights into powder puffs. Emily goes around the apartment’s living room, turning on lights, pulling the drapes closed over the long windows. It’s as if she’s shutting them into a cozy, private little world. A luxurious world.

She’s wearing a scarlet cashmere sweater that does an excellent job of displaying her breasts, swollen with pregnancy, for once a decent, commendable size.

Cameron steps off the elevator into the foyer, shaking snow off his fur hat. “We’ve got a real winter storm going on,” he says. “Good thing you wanted to eat inside. I don’t think our chances of getting a taxi are high.”

“It’s nice in here, too,” Emily coos, kissing Cameron’s cheek. “Let me take your coat.”

She hangs it in the closet, then leads him into the living room, which glows like a scene from
Masterpiece Theatre
, with the burning fire and the abundance of food spread out on the walnut table next to the window.

“I’m glad to see you again,” Emily says, sinking onto the sofa and patting the spot next to her.

“Same here.” Cameron sits. “You look very attractive.”

“Thanks.” She’s trying to be casual but inside she’s trembling. “Would you like some wine? I thought red because”—She gestures toward the table set with interesting cheeses, seedless red grapes, lime green Granny Smith apples, crusty French bread, and several different desserts from the local bakery.

“Looks like a feast.” Something has put him on guard. Rising, he says, “I’ll pour the wine. Red for you, too?”

She accepts the wine but only pretends to sip it.

When she stretches her arms above her head, he playfully asks, “Are you trying to seduce me?”

“Of course, Cameron,” Emily replies smoothly. She takes a sip of wine after all, for courage. “But I need to tell you something first.”

“Okay.”

Now that the moment has arrived, all the clever scenarios Emily has imagined have evaporated. She sets her glass down. She takes a moment to gather her nerve.

“It’s very hard for me to say,” she tells him honestly.

Cameron waits, no longer smiling.

She crosses her arms, hugging herself. Protecting herself. “Cameron, I’m pregnant.”

Cameron blinks. “Well. Huh.” He scans Emily’s body. “How far along are you?”

“Six weeks.”

“Just before Christmas.”

“Right.”

“If it’s mine.”

“What?”

“The last time I checked, you were ‘sort of going’ with Ben.”

She’s reviewed every word she remembers saying to Cameron. She’s prepared for this. “Yes, that was true. I said that, and then you said perhaps I ought to do a little experiment to see if I was really in love with him. And you and I made love and—” She flushes and looks down. She hopes she looks modest and vulnerable. Lord knows she really
is
vulnerable right now. “And I haven’t been with Ben since.” Speaking, she completely believes her lie.

“Really.” Cameron stands up and walks across to the window. Pulling open the heavy curtain, he stares out into the evening, into the darkness swirled with falling snow. “And you’re sure the kid is mine?”

She sees herself reflected in the glass of the window, and Cameron’s reflection, too. Their eyes meet. “Yes. That’s what I’m telling you.”

Cameron shakes his head. “I’m shocked.”

“I know. Sometimes contraception doesn’t work.”

He returns to the table, standing next to her, his face serious, but calm. “What would you like to do about it?”

Emily doesn’t have to pretend a thing. He’s being nice, and the truth is she’s afraid. Tears stream down her face. Sobs wrack her chest, and her throat closes up. She can’t speak.

Cameron nods, as if, wordlessly, she’s told him. He knocks back his wine and pours himself another glass. Emily cries steadily, face buried in her hands.

“If it’s two months, you can have an abortion,” Cameron states quietly.

Emily struggles to control herself. “Cameron, I thought that … going to meet your friends, staying in Stowe with the Endicotts … I thought you might have marriage in mind.”

Cameron shrugs elaborately, almost like a man trying to shake off a backpack. “Maybe I did. But this is a bit more rushed.”

She needs to appear slightly elusive. She will not beg. She keeps her voice cool when she responds, “More rushed than I had in mind, as well.” Emily finds a handkerchief and dries her face. “One way or the other, I can absolutely deal with it. But I thought you should know.”

Outside, a siren screams past.

“Yes. You’re right.” Cameron walks to the window. In a mild, conversational tone, talking to the night as much as to Emily, he says, “I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve screwed around a good bit in my life, without necessarily thinking of the consequences.” He shakes his head. “It’s surprising this hasn’t happened before now. But I don’t intend to walk away from whatever I’ve done.”

Emily waits.

“I wonder,” Cameron muses, “could we make it, Emily? Let’s really think this through now. Do you think we could get married and have a child, live together and be happy?”

Emily knows he’s not waiting for her answer. He’s searching his own heart. Rising, she goes into the kitchen and pours herself a glass of water. She returns to the living room, composed.

Cameron strokes his chin as he thinks aloud. “My boss likes his employees to be married and have children. Thinks it gives us stability
and incentive. Still—I have to tell you, Emily, I
need
to tell you—I’m not in love with you.” His eyes become hooded. “In fact, I might be in love with someone else …” Sadness shadows his face.

Fresh tears swell in Emily’s eyes. He’s more brutal than she thought he’d be.

Bluntly, he continues, “And I’m not sure you’re in love with me.”

“But I am in love with you,” Emily says, and it’s almost true. For if she’s not
in love
with him, certainly she
could
love Cameron.

He shakes his head sadly, but comes to sit on the arm of her chair. He puts a steadying hand on her shoulder.

“That’s very nice, then. That’ll be a big help to us, won’t it? We should be able to make a good little family.”

“Cameron”—Emily smiles, and at this moment she does love him very much—“is there anyone else like you in all the world?”

“Maybe,” Cameron says. “Maybe there is, right in there.” And he gives her belly a little nudge.

Frances sits on Maggie’s bed. “Tell me.”

Huddled in misery in fetal position, Maggie says, “I met a man at the New Year’s Eve party I helped cater.”

“I remember.” Frances nods. “You went out to dinner with him the next night. Clarice told me she met him when he came to pick you up. She said he was quite the gentleman, and extremely handsome.”

“He’s nice, too, Mom.” Maggie struggles to sit up. “He’s in finance on Wall Street, whatever that means, but he’s sweet, and kind, and—how can I explain it? For a very short time, it was like magic, as if something special existed between us after our eyes first met.”

Frances chuckles. “You don’t need to explain that, honey. I think I can almost remember.”

“We had so much to tell each other over dinner. We were the last ones to leave the restaurant … and I went to his room. I spent the night with him.”

Covering her face with her hands, Maggie says, “I was such a fool. I’m the biggest sucker on earth.” Lifting her tearstained face to her mother’s, she says, “He said he was going to call me. He wanted me to come into New York. He had plans for us … Oh, God, how could I have been so stupid?”

Pulling her daughter against her, Frances pats her back soothingly. “He hasn’t called?”

“He called once, the day after he returned to New York. He told me he was slammed with work, he was thinking of me, he didn’t have much time to talk, he’d call me—but he hasn’t called again.”

“Do you think you could phone him?”

“No!” Maggie pulls away from Frances, the movement making her queasy. “No,” she repeats, more quietly. “It’s been eight weeks. He’s only texted me once in eight weeks. He hasn’t called. No one is that busy.” Bleakly, she faces her mother. “What am I going to do?”

“How about if Thaddeus takes his shotgun and goes into Manhattan …?” Frances has a twinkle in her eyes when she speaks.

“Oh, Mom!” Maggie can’t help but laugh, and somehow the bitterness evaporates in the face of her mother’s love, and the realization that whatever her situation is, it’s not
tragic
.

“We’ll find our way through this,” Frances says. “Does Clarice know yet?”