Authors: Jean Stone
It wasn’t the greatest location in the world, but the rent was cheap enough, and Susan didn’t have to sign a lease. The apartment was on the second floor of an ancient building
on Massachusetts Avenue in Cambridge, halfway between M.I.T. and Harvard. There were five rooms whose ceilings seemed higher than the rooms were wide: a living room, kitchen, dining room, two bedrooms, and a bath. An old bath. Gray plumbing stuck out for all the world to see, and the floor, like the floor in the kitchen, should have been replaced a century ago. There was a fireplace in the living room—“Don’t try to use it though,” the landlady warned—which Susan thought added historic charm.
“It’s amazing how differently we look at things when it’s something we really want,” P.J. noted.
“Yeah,” Susan said, “isn’t it great? If my parents had found this apartment for me, I’d have told them where to go. But somehow, this is the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen.”
P.J. roamed the rooms. “Which room will be for the baby? The one overlooking the street, or the one overlooking the alley?”
Susan dismissed P.J.’s sarcasm. “Oh, I think the alley might be quieter,” she said.
“Don’t bet on it,” P.J. answered.
“Come on, P.J., don’t spoil my fun.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to. It’s just that this apartment looks a little too much like the one I had in Back Bay.”
“But this isn’t going to be a crash pad for roommates. It’s going to have a family in it.” Susan looked pensively out the living-room window. “And it’s close enough so in the spring I can walk the baby in the carriage to the park by the river. The famous Charles River. Maybe we can even cross the bridge. How far is it to the Boston Common?”
P.J. looked out the window beside her. “Far enough. But you can make it. With your long legs.”
Susan smiled. “P.J., the only thing that could make me happier right now would be if David came back into my life.”
“Maybe he will, Susan. But this isn’t a dream, you know. This baby is going to be very real, and it needs every
chance it can get. You’re the one who’s always preaching doom and gloom for the world.”
“I’ve changed,” Susan said.
“I doubt it,” P.J. answered.
Susan ignored P.J.’s remark and went back into the kitchen where the landlady was stooped over, scraping something black off the worn linoleum. P.J. had followed Susan, and as they stood in the doorway, P.J. looked at Susan and shook her head. But she was smiling.
“Guess I’ll need to order some furniture and have it delivered. Enough to get started,” Susan said. She leaned against the chipped porcelain sink and wrote out a check for the security deposit and the first three months’ rent. The landlady stood up and pulled up her stocking, which had rolled below her fleshy knee.
“Will you be available to let the delivery men in?” Susan asked.
“Sure. I got nowheres to go.” The woman took the check and handed Susan the keys. “See you in a couple of months.” The woman left, and Susan sat on the floor. She started to laugh.
“Won’t my mother be pissed?” she said. “Not only will I have taken off with my baby, but once again I won’t be home for the holidays!”
They drove back on the Mass. Pike and stopped at Howard Johnson’s for dinner.
“This is a celebration,” Susan said. “It’s on me.” They gorged themselves on fried clams and french fries and had ice-cream cones for desert, then both felt sick afterward. But on the way back to Larchwood, Susan could not stop talking.
“A crib, a bassinet. A layette. Stuff like that. I’ve got to get shopping! Sears. That’s what I’ll do. I’ll go into town to Sears and order everything. They can have it sent from their Boston store, can’t they?”
P.J. looked out the car window. “How should I know? I suppose they can.”
“P.J., humor me. I know this is boring. I know this is hard on you, but believe me, it’s the greatest thing that
ever happened to me. I feel like I’m finally finding myself. I’m getting away from my parents’ clutches.”
“It’s not really hard for me. Honest. I have no interest in keeping my baby. I don’t envy you. I only want to get this over with and get on with the rest of my life.”
Susan drove in silence. She thought about David.
“Do you think I can find him?” she asked.
P.J. shrugged. “I suppose it won’t hurt to keep trying.”
Susan tapped the steering wheel. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “Yeah, I’ll keep trying.”
It was after ten o’clock when they pulled into the driveway at Larchwood Hall. The front porch light glowed.
“Think Miss Taylor’s waiting up for us?” Susan asked.
“No doubt about it.” P.J. laughed.
Susan wheeled the car around to the garage. They got out and walked up the steps. “Remember, not a word,” she cautioned P.J. “Not to anyone.”
P.J. held up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”
The girls went inside.
Miss Taylor was seated in her office. The Tiffany desk lamp was the only light in the room. “You’re back safely, I see,” she said without her usual chirp. Was something wrong?
“Yes. A very informative trip, Miss Taylor,” Susan said. “Thank you for letting us go.”
“P.J.,” Miss Taylor said, “would you excuse us, please? I need to speak with Susan about something.”
P.J. looked at Susan, then back at Miss Taylor. “Sure. I’ll just go up to my room. Good night.”
Here it comes, Susan thought. Miss Taylor knows. That damn social worker must have told her.
“Sit down, dear,” Miss Taylor said.
Susan sat. “Is something wrong?”
“Miss Gladstone has informed me you’ve decided to keep your baby.”
An aftertaste of fried clams rose in her throat. “No. Not exactly,” she lied. “I’m still thinking about it.”
“Well, dear, anytime you’d like to talk about it, I’m here.”
That was it? No hassle?
“Oh, and, Susan, your mother called. She’d like you to call her back tonight. I expect it’s not too late, is it?”
Mother called? Oh, please. Miss Gladstone must have gotten to her too. “No. I can call her now, if it’s okay.”
“Go right ahead. I’ll leave you alone.” Miss Taylor got up from her chair and left.
Weird, Susan thought. Well, maybe she thinks my mother will talk me out of this.
But this isn’t fair! I shouldn’t be treated like a child. I am old enough—legally and otherwise—to make my own decisions
. But nothing could discourage Susan now. Nothing could take away from the great feeling of independence she had tonight, and nothing could take away from her happiness, not even her mother’s caustic remarks. It just wouldn’t work. Not this time. Not anymore.
Susan picked up the phone and placed the call, jotting down the date and phone number in the log. Her mother answered on the first ring.
“Susan?” she said, without even saying hello.
“Yes, Mother, how are you?”
“Fine. Fine.” Her mother didn’t sound angry. That was strange.
“Miss Taylor said you called.”
“Yes, I did. Susan I had some news today.”
Uh-oh, here it comes.
“One of your friends from college called.”
“David?” Her heart raced.
“No. No, it wasn’t him. It was a boy named Alan. He thought you should know he received some news which you might want to know. Some news which might be disturbing to you.”
“Alan?” David’s roommate. Somehow he’d located her parents. “What is it, Mother? What did he say?” Susan was losing her patience.
“It’s about David.”
She clutched the phone.
“Apparently he’s in Vietnam.”
“Yes, Mother, I know.”
Get on with it, will you?
“Well, it seems that he’s been listed as Missing in Action.”
Susan dropped the phone.
Susan called the number Alan had left with her mother. Yes, it had been he who called. Yes, it was true. David was missing in action. He disappeared on a patrol in September. September 14. That was all he knew.
Susan sat in stony silence. But where was David now? Was he being tortured? Was he really still alive? Her heart felt as though it were breaking into tiny pieces.
“Why did he go, Alan?” she cried. “Why did he go?”
“He told me you broke up with him, Susan. Then when Kennedy was assassinated … I guess he was disillusioned. About life. About everything.”
“Oh, God, it’s all my fault.”
“No, don’t blame yourself. Besides, it’s not like he’s been—well, he
is
alive, Susan. He’s just missing. They’ll find him.”
“Alan, will you call me? When they find him?”
“Of course.”
Susan gave him the number at Larch wood. “I’ll only be here a couple more months. Then I’m moving to Boston. I’ll let you know how you can get in touch with me there.”
“Are you at school now?”
Susan hesitated. “No. No, I’m staying with some friends.” Then, after a moment of silence, “Oh, God, Alan, I wish there was something I could do.”
“There’s nothing to do. Pray, I guess.”
P.J
.
It had seemed strange to be back in Boston. The sight of centuries-old town houses shaded by amber-leafed maples, the sounds of traffic weaving through the narrow streets,
the scent of damp cobblestones: Boston in autumn had a feel like no other city, no other town.
P.J. sat on the veranda at Larchwood, relishing the warmth of the October morning. When Susan had first asked her to go with her, P.J.’s instincts told her to say no. No, she never planned to set foot in that city again. No, she didn’t want to be reminded of Frank. But Susan had been so excited, and P.J. had had few female friends. Only boys. Always boys. Sharing feelings with another girl was foreign to her.
Thankfully the apartment Susan picked was across the river. It looked like Boston, felt like Boston, but the smell was different: A huge confectionery plant behind the building gave off a sickish odor.
P.J. sighed. It was hard to believe that was only a week ago. Now Susan’s dreams had been jolted. Susan had hardly spoken to P.J. about David’s disappearance. Instead, she seemed to crave the conversation of old friends, people who had known her, people who had known David. Susan had been on the phone most of the week. It reminded P.J. that they all had lives outside Larchwood—lives they would all have to return to, lives that could never be the same. But for P.J., the waiting would be the longest. It was only October 19, and her “around Christmas” due date was the latest of any of the girls. The others would be gone from Larchwood, but P.J. would remain. Alone.
From inside the house P.J. heard the shrill ring of the telephone. Another call for Susan, she thought. Poor Susan. David is really out of her life now. P.J. thought about the others: Jess, whose hopes for reconciliation with her father were dim; Ginny, who couldn’t quite seem to find herself at all. And then there was herself, wanting now only for the loneliness to end, for the trauma to be over. Had her mother felt this way? Why couldn’t her mother have shared the secret of her child with P.J.? Why—especially now? Why did she insist on keeping up a front for the world to see? Did her mother, in fact, hate P.J. now? Hate her for doing what she had done, and for reminding her mother of her own dark past?
The front door opened, and Miss Taylor stepped onto the veranda.
“It’s such a gorgeous morning,” P.J. noted. “Guess we won’t have too many more like this.” But Miss Taylor didn’t respond. P.J. noticed the woman looked pale. “Is anything wrong, Miss Taylor? Are you okay?”
The woman sat down on the wicker chair beside P.J. P.J. saw that she was trembling.
“P.J.,” she said. “Oh, dear, I don’t know how to do this.”
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
The woman placed a blue-veined hand on top of P.J.’s. “Oh, dear, I’m afraid I have some bad news.”
Bad news? “Is there more about David? Oh, no. Poor Susan.”
The woman patted P.J.’s hand. “My dear, your mother just phoned.”
Mother? Something bad had happened to Mother?
“We thought it might be better if I told you than for you to hear it over the phone.”
P.J. felt a chill surge through her. “What’s wrong, Miss Taylor?” she snapped.
Miss Taylor took a visible deep breath. “It’s your father, P.J.”
“What? What’s wrong with my father?”
“I’m afraid he’s had a heart attack.”
P.J. bolted from the chair. “What? My God, no!” She headed for the front door.
Daddy
, she thought,
Daddy, no!
“I’ve got to see him,” she shouted. “Can Pop drive me there?”
“P.J., dear,” Miss Taylor said quietly.
P.J. looked at the woman. Anger flooded through her. “He’s got to! Pop has to take me to see him! Oh, poor Daddy! What happened? Was he at work?”
“Yes. But, P.J., I’m afraid you don’t understand.”
P.J. looked at the woman. The lines around her mouth were quivering; her lips paled under their red cover. A shock of dread stabbed P.J.’s heart. Suddenly she understood.
“Dead?”
The woman looked down. “Yes. I’m afraid so.”
P.J. stood motionless. “Dead?” she asked again.
Two minutes later P.J. was on the phone. Her brother answered.
“Junior? It’s me, P.J.”
“Oh, hi.” His voice sounded distant, older.
“Junior, is it true?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, God,” she choked. “What happened?”
“You wanna talk to Mom?”
“Is she? Can she?”
“Mom!” Junior screamed away from the phone. “It’s P.J.!”
P.J. pictured her mother sitting in the kitchen, staring into space. She probably had a notepad in front of her. She was probably trying to make a list of things that needed doing, but she probably hadn’t written down a thing. P.J. longed to be there. She longed for a hug—from whom? Her mother? Had her mother ever hugged her?
Oh, Daddy
…
“P.J.?” Her mother finally answered. She, too, sounded a million miles away. Maybe she was.
“Mom. Are you okay?” P.J. sniffed.
“Fine. I’m fine.” Her voice was so definite, it startled P.J.
“Mom, I can’t believe it.”
“I know.”
“What happened?”
Her mother hesitated only a split second. “He was at work. He slumped over his desk. They called the ambulance. It was too late.”
Her staccato sentences said it all.