The Birthdays (10 page)

She used to be free of all attachments. She didn’t know when she’d changed, but she remembered once upon a time thinking more openly about the future and making decisions based on amorphous feelings and whims. Moving to the West Coast because it was far from home, to San Francisco because it seemed the opposite of everything she’d grown up near—hills instead of flatness, style instead of tradition, the urgency of politics instead of the conservatism of history. She’d decided to study archaeology because of the posters of the mummies in the halls of the university’s anthropology department, these beautifully wrapped bodies like large babies, permanently swaddled. The promise of worlds underground, of ancient rites and religions and the eeriness of the painted mummies’ faces—the expressions that had been chosen for them in their afterlife. These seemed unsolvable mysteries. But she decided to drop out of school after she’d failed too many anthropology tests. It wasn’t the terminology that interested her, she reasoned, it wasn’t all the reading she’d been after. It certainly wasn’t the knowledge of ancient embalming practices and photographs of brains being tugged through nasal cavities. It was those exotic ideas, the art and mysticism, the unknown lives that the teachers dissected and deflated and pulled apart with their scientific identifications until all the beauty of these ancient worlds had vanished. And sometime after dropping out of college she realized so many things she’d previously thought dichotomous weren’t, after all, and what she’d chosen as her new life had become tedious. The hills were impossible to bike; her style had become redundant, for she’d never stopped wearing only black; her politics had become lazy, and eventually warped once she’d begun earning a paycheck and losing a big chunk of it to taxes each
month, once she’d seen enough college students demonstrate against this or that policy, then step into their exorbitant car and drive back to the dorms. The mystery of archaeology became science, which became mathematics. What was once clear was now a big blurry mess, and a part of her missed the romance of dichotomies, and the clarity and promise that came with such things.

Daniel once called her starry-eyed and said if she never got used to reality, she’d never truly grow up. She’d been bemoaning the high rents of San Francisco and saying she wished she were a kid again so she didn’t have to worry about things like bills or taxes. “Adulthood isn’t so bad,” he claimed. “You get to make your own decisions. You get to drive and have sex and drink and vote and rent cars.” But she couldn’t help it—she thought of herself as fundamentally younger than her years. Not necessarily immature, but youthful at her core. In the end, adulthood was such a dull concept, dull and airless, an itchy sweater that was slightly too small.

Alex sighed. “You’re not into this place,” he said.

“That’s not true.”

“This spot usually puts me at ease.”

The reeds flattened with a wind, and she breathed in the quiet. “It’s beautiful here, really. I’m sorry, I’m just tired.” She shuffled on her feet, trying to think of more to say. “Maybe we should get going on this tour you’re supposed to be giving me and head to the next stop or something.” She thought a moment. “Where do you live?”

“In town. Near Books & Beans.”

“I’d love to see your place, you know, see where the natives live,” she said, hoping she wasn’t sounding too forward.

“It’s not so different from any other apartment you’ve seen, but we could go there if you want. Or I could take you to a beach? There’s a walk most tourists like to do that goes from the northern tip almost all the way to the southernmost point of the island.”

“I just need to sit somewhere for a little while, if that’s all right. Being pregnant is constantly exhausting.” She wasn’t totally lying.

He nodded. “Fine. You’re the customer.”

She smiled, faintly embarrassed. She walked a pace behind him back down the hill and every now and then stopped to take in the view of the slate sky and ocean. The water on this side of the country was completely different. More confident somehow, and looking at it, she felt a deep calm that she’d missed, a sense of familiarity. She could come back to this spot again this weekend, she thought, now that she knew where it was. She could take Daniel here (if she could manage to get a moment alone with him), and someday her child and maybe have a picnic, someday when her life had become an entirely different thing.

Her breath began to quicken as she walked, and she slowed.

“You’re not going to have the baby right now or something, are you? Because I’m no doctor.”

Hilary laughed. “Yes, I was thinking I’d hire some guy I just met to help me do the deed in a field in the middle of nowhere. You might not have noticed, but I’ve got a blanket in one back pocket and stirrups in the other.”

He puckered his face.

Would anything ultimately happen between them today? If
she’d met him back in California, they’d undoubtedly end up drinking in a bar, then later, in her apartment, sloppily kissing, eventually passing out and probably never talking again. But she was pregnant now, and this was not California. Everything was different. Nothing,
nothing will happen
, she told herself. Then she told herself to stop thinking about it so much. She’d never done one worthwhile or smart or fun thing after thinking too much about it.

The family treated
Daniel differently after the accident, and even now, a year and a half later, he caught his mother eyeing him as if she still couldn’t quite believe what had happened. Jake was still obsequious, his father even more distant than he used to be. Before the accident it seemed that they looked up to Daniel and his successful career, his busy life in New York. Hilary especially, but since the accident, even she’d been overcompensating. She’d become aggressively chummy and sarcastic. His family had come to seem fragile to him, and more separate. It used to be more of a world that included him.

Brenda pulled the car into the landing just as the ferry left its slip. “Dammit,” she said, but Daniel found himself almost relieved; more time would pass before they all gathered, before his mother would reach for his hand, careful not to
touch the chair, before Jake would sprint ahead to hold every door for him.

Brenda helped him out of the car and then stood beside him for a moment. She bent forward and closed her eyes, saying she felt light-headed. “You all right?” he asked, but she didn’t respond. The feeling apparently passed, and soon she headed off to find a drink. She stopped to talk to a youngish woman with short blond hair—someone she knew? But she didn’t know anyone who lived in Maine. The woman wore ratty cargo pants and a sleeveless black tank top, and looked to be about Brenda’s age. She held a baby dressed all in white; a white hat, pacifier, dress, booties. Even the baby’s hair and eyes appeared to be white, and Daniel drew it in his head, a set of overlapping white circles. The baby seemed to see Daniel staring at it. Something in the small face changed, and it spat its pacifier into the air and let loose a horrible, curdled sound. The mother patted the back of the baby’s head and walked it in circles. Brenda glanced over at Daniel, as if she sensed he was responsible for the baby’s misery. In an attempt to look innocent, he shrugged and picked up a flyer on the bench next to him. “Come Sail Away!” it advertised in ribbon letters. A poorly drawn cartoon sailboat captained by a fat, jolly man burst through the letters. Inside were prices for afternoon charters, prices so high Daniel calculated that for the same costs, he could buy two four-course meals in Portugal, ten outfits in Zimbabwe, a night at the theater in London. “Visit the Maine islands! Enjoy the sounds and sights! Sip champagne while charting a coarse on the Atlantic!” Coarse. The word stared at him like a bratty child sticking out his tongue.

Brenda returned and said, “Here’s some lemonade,” handing him a paper cup. “It’s quite full. Careful there.”

It was a truce, really.
Don’t spill on yourself.

“I love you,” he said in a bad British accent. It was the start of an exchange they used to have years ago—she’d reply the same with an American intonation. He waited for her to answer. “I
love
you,” he repeated.

“I love you too,” she said in her nasal New Yorkese. Her American had always been so exaggerated, yet still somehow plausible. It used to make him laugh.

“You remember,” he said, still in British.

She nodded.

“It’s been so long. It’s been since the accident, I think?”

“Could be. You’re nostalgic today.” She’d returned to British. “First sex, now this.”

She could have used another word for sex, and he wished she had. “Maybe it’s the thought of seeing my family,” he said. “We haven’t all been in one place in years. Maybe it’s making me miss the past or something.”

“That would make sense,” she granted him (because he was no longer being surly, and he would maintain this demeanor, whatever it took).

“I love you,” he said again in British, and she said, “We should call Jake and tell him we’re going to be late. Did you bring the cell phone?”

He reminded her there was no service up here, but offered to go find a pay phone. He saw one across the dirt parking lot, which would be hell for his wheels. But never mind. He jounced his way across the lot, trying to ignore the clinking of his teeth whenever he jolted over a pebble.

Liz answered. “Jake’s not here. He’s down at the beach right now.” Daniel’s brother never used to like the beach; the waves used to frighten him. Everything used to frighten him.
He used to worry that if the sun got too strong it would actually cook him alive. Daniel told her they’d missed the ferry. “You missed it? Well, you’re not the only ones who are late. No one’s here yet.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “We tried. We almost made it.”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” she grumbled, audibly trying to reformulate her afternoon. “You see any of the others there?”

Daniel glanced behind him, wondering why he hadn’t thought to look yet. “No.”

“We’ll just eat later. You’ll still be here by sundown if you take the next ferry. You’ll still get to see the place in the daylight.”

“How’re you doing?” he asked. “Last time we talked you were nauseous a lot.”

“Yes, well, that seems to have subsided. Now I’m just tired all the time. Jake is taking care of everything.” Daniel liked his sister-in-law. At times he felt a sort of kinship with her, and recently they’d begun to joke about his family. She was unlike the sort of person he assumed his brother would marry—maybe someone more hypersensitive. Someone more like Jake. “I’m guessing he thinks he’s lost his wife and gained a walking womb. I’m not in the mood for anything lately other than napping and planning for the baby.”

“And that surprises him?”

“You know your brother. He takes everything personally. One step toward a baby is one step away from him.”

“But isn’t it, when you think about it? I mean literally, one step toward anything is a step away from something else.”

“You too? Is this fear of abandonment some kind of male thing? Or just a Miller thing?”

Daniel swallowed. “No, Jake’s always been the big baby of the family. You know that. He clings to the people he loves for
dear life, and when they don’t reciprocate, well, he just clings harder.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“Simple,” he said. “He’s a wimp. Psychologically, physically, through and through. He’s afraid of rejection. He’s terribly insecure. He was born a baby and for some reason stayed that way. Make sure you have enough diapers for when the second comes along.” The words flew from his mouth, nastier than he’d meant them.

“Yikes. Sounds like someone’s got his own demons.”

“I’m off-limits here.”

“Well, you can certainly dole it out. Why do you think you can’t take it?”

“There’s not much to take, really, because I’m perfect. Do I always need to remind you of this?”

“I guess you do. To be honest, it’s a little easy to forget.”

“How does Jake survive this kind of harassment from you?”

“Harassment? I wasn’t the one to call him a baby,” she said, her tone shifting.

“I should apologize for that.”

“Accepted.”

“He’s not a baby. He’s more of an infant.”

“Daniel.”

“Yes?”

“You two aren’t so different.”

He gasped. “I object! I object!”

“Go back to your wife and wait with her until the next ferry. Ask her how she’s feeling. Try to help her out when you can, and give her space when she wants it.”

“Will do,” Daniel said, and they said goodbye.

As he made his way back across the parking lot, he felt a
raindrop on his forehead and noticed a small patch of blue sky to his left, barely visible, becoming smaller and smaller. What if Liz repeated to Jake what he’d said? She wouldn’t, she just couldn’t. It’d only wound him. In the end Jake had nothing to worry about with Liz. She was someone who presented herself clearly and honestly, who never withheld anything she felt. Daniel had always known that she liked him. And despite some passing irritations, she seemed to truly, sufficiently love Jake. They were certainly a strange couple—she was so much more at ease with herself and other people than he was. At times, Daniel wondered exactly what she saw in him.

Brenda looked beatific, sitting on the bench sipping lemonade and gazing out at the water. Liz had suggested he ask her how she was feeling, but he wanted to address other matters right now.

“So,” he said as he stopped beside her. He paused. He would tread lightly. “I think that this pregnancy might be it for me. I’m just not sure I want to put my body through another one. All my stretch marks, all the trips to the bathroom, the morning sickness.” He rested his hands on an invisible stomach before him.

She wasn’t smiling.

“Would we use the same donor, our Jonathan White, again? That is, if there has to be a next time?”

“Not this.”

“I’m just not sure I can go through it all again. I’m not sure I can handle another pregnancy.” He’d made a circle around what he’d meant to say.

“I’m the one that’s pregnant. I’m the one that’s going to give birth, for God’s sake.” She looked right at him. “You’re feeling left out again.”

“It’s not just a feeling.” Was this what Jake sounded like to Liz? Childlike and nagging? He wanted to continue, but the woman with the baby approached and Brenda suddenly switched into her friendly-to-people-she-barely-knew mode. The woman had messy, chin-length black hair held back from her face by a thick flowered band. Her cheeks were covered in freckles, and her eyes were steely blue. She wore no wedding ring and Daniel wondered whether the baby was even hers. She was attractive in a boyish way, hardened and muscular.

“This is Vanessa,” Brenda finally said to Daniel. “She lives on the island and works for Freeman Corcoran. You know, the painter.”

“And this,” Vanessa said, holding up the baby’s hand, “is my daughter Esther.”

The baby opened her mouth and grabbed Vanessa’s chin with both her hands as if she were about to nurse it. Vanessa nuzzled her with her chin, and when she pulled back, a line of drool connected their lips. Daniel tried but was unable to place Freeman Corcoran’s art, though the name was familiar.

“Did you even know he lived there, Dan?” Brenda asked. “I’ve always loved his work. His sense of humor, his sense of fun. And he handles light so deftly,” she said to Vanessa. “You know, to be honest, I didn’t know he was still alive.”

“He’s ninety-four, but you’d never know it if you met him. He still paints every day. He’s still sharp as a knife. Esther and I live in the barn behind his house—years ago he made it into a living space.”

“What a job,” Brenda said dreamily.

“He’s always having huge dinner parties for the artists or writers who come to visit him. He invites half the island, it
seems. And he cooks. For days ahead of time, he cooks. Lobster bisque, breads, cakes, you name it. Everyone on Great Salt loves him to death,” Vanessa said, and kissed Esther’s head. “We’re never bored, that’s for sure. And Freeman travels a lot, and takes us with him. Next month we’re heading to Madrid for a show.”

“I bet my wife would love to join you,” Daniel said. Another thought had escaped. They seemed impossible to censor today.

“Just ignore this person and tell me more about Freeman,” Brenda said.

The light outside had dimmed and the day had grown colder. Daniel watched several small boats buzz around the harbor like flies. He wished he’d finished his earlier conversation with Brenda and elicited some kind of definitive answer from her. And then he decided that maybe, just maybe, he did not.

Ellen followed Joe up the aisle of the ferry until he found an empty seat beside a young woman reading a book. Joe gazed down at her, Babe’s cage swinging between them, but she didn’t move. “You take it,” Ellen said.

“No,” Joe said. He set the cage on the floor. “You go ahead.”

“I’ll go find another seat somewhere else. I don’t mind,” she said. She continued on to the front of the boat, where a few families talked loudly. She sat beside a young boy on a bench and glanced at his family across from him, now arguing about a bed and breakfast. She tried to ignore them but their voices grew loud and insistent. The mother’s was nasal, with a strong Boston accent. Ellen pushed her fingertips against her temples. What would MacNeil do in such a situation?
He would allow the noise to drift away. She imagined the voices around her fading, becoming a distant din like faraway traffic. “Morton, I can’t believe you just got one goddamn room, and that you only remembered to tell me now,” the woman squawked, and her voice rushed right back beside Ellen, making its way beneath her skin. They argued on and on—they were a terrible couple. So many couples fought in public. Even Vera and MacNeil had sparred in front of them, and always over the silliest topics. Often Ellen thought Vera was just being obstinate for the sake of making a point. Ellen herself had learned to let certain things go in her marriage. Of course, certain moments stuck to her like thorns, but she tried never to argue with Joe in public, and insisted they not argue in front of the kids. They funneled their irritations with each other into a friendly sort of teasing when the kids were near, an innocent-seeming banter that no one could have suspected hid anything more insidious. It was never necessary to let the world hear one’s ugly grievances.

Morton sneezed explosively and Ellen’s heart burst in her chest. Two girls across from her saw her jump and giggled. Ellen tried to smile at them as she stood, pushing against the table, and made her way back to Joe. She wobbled with the ferry’s jumbled motion as she walked.

Asleep, Joe leaned toward the young woman sitting next to him. Ellen wasn’t sure what to do. She stood there a moment, then reached across the girl toward one of the bags. She shuffled around inside for her migraine medicine. Not that she was certain she had a migraine, but she needed something to help calm her and to quiet the volume of the boat’s noises. The bottle was wedged beneath keys, a wallet, several pieces
of paper and a pack of chewing gum. She grabbed the pills and headed off to find a bathroom.

When she returned, she went to slip the bottle back into the bag as Joe opened his eyes. “Hi,” he mumbled.

“Hi.”

“You want to sit?”

“Actually, yes. Would you mind?” The bickering couple wouldn’t bother him so much.