The Midwife's Confession (10 page)

“Cancel it,” Ted said.

I shook my head. “We can’t. The invitations have all gone out and—”

“I’m sure Suzanne would understand, given the circumstances.”

Suzanne hadn’t said a word to me about it, probably not knowing how to bring it up. She was a single mother who’d fought cancer twice and never expected to see fifty. Noelle would want the party to go on. “No,” I said. “We’re having the party. It’s three weeks away and Tara’s going to help.” If there was anything that needed to be planned or managed or organized, Tara was the person to do it.

“Are you sure?” Ted asked. “I think you’re taking on too much.”

He was probably right and I wanted more time, not less, with my dying grandfather. I could hardly think about him without crying. Jenny and I’d visited him in Jacksonville the day before and he’d looked so emaciated in that big bed at the hospice that I’d barely recognized him. He’d been alert and happy to see us, though. My childhood was filled with memories of him. My father was always traveling and it was Grandpa who taught me to ride a bike and fish and even to cook. Making time to visit him was a priority.

Nevertheless, I wasn’t giving up this box.

“I want to keep the box for now,” I said to Ted. “I just want to see what all these women had to say to her.”

“I wish you’d dump it,” he said. “We don’t have room for all her stuff.”

“I’m taking it,” I said, feeling stubborn as I folded the top of the carton into place. Maybe, just maybe, something in the box would lead me to her son or her daughter and, in that small way, I could help Noelle live on.

10

Noelle

UNC Wilmington
1988

She sat in the lounge of the Galloway dormitory with the other Resident Assistants on the last day of their training. The freshmen would arrive the following day and then the lazy calm that had enveloped the Wilmington campus would give way to mayhem. Noelle was looking forward to it. She loved this school.

Empty pizza boxes and soda cans littered the tables of the lounge. Noelle hadn’t touched the artery-clogging pizza. She’d kicked off her sandals and sat cross-legged on one of the sofas, her long blue skirt pooling around her like the sea, and she ate carrot sticks and almonds from the Baggie she carried with her everywhere. She offered the bag to one of the other trainees, Luanne, who sat next to her on the couch and who helped herself to one of the carrot sticks. Of all the RA trainees in the lounge, Noelle was closest to Luanne, but that wasn’t saying much. Her fellow UNC students liked Noelle and respected her, but she was just a little too different to fit in. It had been that way all her life, and she didn’t really mind. She was used to holding herself a bit apart from her peers. The other girls treated her warmly and even turned to her with their problems, yet there was always a distance, and she never formed those intense, heart-to-heart connections that most women had with other women.

As for the guys…well, the jocks and frat boys had no idea how to relate to someone like Noelle. There was something weird about her, they’d say dismissively, not sure how to handle the discomfort they felt around her. She was the quirky woman you could see wandering alone around campus after midnight. She was pretty in an unconventional way, but she was too hard to get to know and not worth the effort. It was as if she were covered by a veil that couldn’t be pierced or lifted. She was simply out of their league, and deep down, they knew it.

Yet she had no dearth of lovers. There were certain guys on campus who were intrigued rather than intimidated by her. They were the cerebral or artsy types who were too shy to talk to the typical coeds, but who recognized in Noelle a kindred spirit. So although she’d had no real boyfriend during her first three years at UNC, she did have relationships that went deeper than friendship, even if those relationships would never lead to anything permanent. That was fine with her. She had one single goal and that was to become a midwife. The rest of her life could sort itself out later.

This would be her senior year as a nursing student and she was already researching midwifery programs for next year. She’d have no problem getting in wherever she wanted to go; she was at the top of her class. No one ever said as much, but they didn’t need to. She was a hard worker and her professors adored her. She had issues with some of the ridiculous rules she was required to follow in the hospital setting during her clinicals, but she did everything she was told. When she grew frustrated, she called her mother, who was still working for Miss Wilson and who could always calm her down. “Just do what they say and get your degree,” she’d tell her. “Then you’ll be freer to make your
own
rules. You have to find a way to work with the system, Noelle.”

Now, sitting with the other RA trainees in the lounge, Noelle focused her attention on the young man leaning against the back of one of the sofas. He was a grad student in psychology and he’d been their trainer for the past couple of days. “So tomorrow’s going to be chaos,” he said. “People will be complaining about their rooms and their roommates within an hour of their arrival. Just expect it and it won’t overwhelm you. If you have any problems, you know how to reach me, right?”

Everyone murmured a weary response. They were all tired of being cooped up in the lounge, and Noelle was no exception. The day was gorgeous, not too hot for the end of August, and she wanted to be outside. But the trainer was going to hand out their dorm assignments and she couldn’t leave until she’d received hers.

She’d requested the Galloway dorm, where she was sitting right that moment. It was where she’d spent her fresh man year and she remembered the kindness of the RA she’d had back then. She wanted to be that helpful, nonjudgmental sort of RA for a new, green group of students.

The grad student was sifting through sheets of paper and Noelle knew they were the lists of students on each floor of the various dormitories.

“Noelle?” he said, holding one of the sheets toward her.

“You’ve got Galloway. Third floor.”

“Excellent.” She stood to take the paper from him, then sat down next to Luanne again.

The grad student handed Luanne her list.

“I have Galloway, too,” Luanne said, studying the sheet of paper. “Cool.”

“What floor?” Noelle asked.

“Fourth.”

Noelle bit her lip, surprised when she felt a little seed of longing forming in her chest. “That’s where I lived my freshman year,” she said.

“Are you sentimental about it?” Luanne smiled at her. “I don’t have any big preference if you want to switch.”

She realized that she
did
want to switch. She couldn’t have said why. That year had been so good for her. She’d come into her own—away from home, living in a city for the first time in her life and loving every minute of it. The floors of the Galloway dorm were nearly identical, so it seemed silly to switch, and yet…

“You wouldn’t mind?” she asked.

“Uh-uh.” Luanne started to hand her the list of fourth-floor students, but as Noelle reached toward her with her own list, she noticed one of the names near the bottom of the paper and stopped. She looked hard at the name, her eyes narrowed as she tried to make sense of what she was reading. She drew the sheet of paper back.

“I’ll keep the third floor.” She heard the tremor in her voice. “I was just being silly. They’ve got our floors recorded and we’ll mess everything up if we trade.”

Luanne frowned at her. “I doubt it would be any big deal,” she said.

“No, this is fine,” Noelle said, and she pressed the list to her chest as if it were a long-buried treasure.

11

Tara

Wilmington, North Carolina
2010

I knocked on Grace’s door and heard her scramble a little, as though she might be doing something she didn’t want me to know about.

“Come in,” she said after a moment.

I opened the door and saw her sitting at her desk, a textbook open in her lap. She’d probably been on Facebook or answering email but was trying to convince me she was actually working. I didn’t care. I really didn’t. I just wanted her to be happy and okay. She looked up at me as she sipped from her favorite black mug. High-test coffee, no doubt. I couldn’t even drink the stuff she and Sam would make.

“Just wanted to see if you need any help with the sewing machine,” I asked.

“I don’t have time to do it
now,
Mom,” she said. “I’m studying.”

“Well, whenever.” I sat down on the edge of her bed, longing for a real conversation with her. Longing for contact. Twitter rested his big head on my knee and I ran my hand over his back. “Noelle would be so pleased you’re helping with the babies program.”

“Uh-huh.” She lifted her backpack from the floor and dug around inside it, pulling out a notebook. She looked everywhere in the room except at me. I hated the strain I felt between us. Just hated it.

I smiled at her mug. “I don’t know how you can drink coffee this late in the day,” I said.

She flipped open her notebook with an exasperated sigh. “You say that every single time you see me with a cup of coffee in the afternoon,” she said.

Did I? “It reminds me of your dad,” I said. “You two were so much alike that way.”

“Speaking of Dad,” she said, now looking directly at me, “how was your big date with Ian?”

I frowned, surprised by the question. Sarcasm wasn’t her style at all, and she’d caught me off guard. “It was
not
a date, Grace,” I said.

She looked out the window, her cheeks reddening, and I thought she’d blurted out the question before she’d been able to stop herself. “I think of Daddy being
dead
while you’re out having fun,” she said. “I don’t know how you can do that to him.”

“It wasn’t a date,” I said again. “Not the way you’re implying, anyway. It’ll be a long time before I’m interested in a man other than Daddy, but I need to be able to go out to dinner or a movie with a friend sometimes, the way you go out with Jenny. We
both
need to get out.” I leaned forward and lowered my head, trying to get her to look at me again. “Can you understand that?” I asked.

“It’s fine.” She didn’t sound convincing.

“I know you miss Cleve,” I said, straightening up again.

She looked down at her notebook and I had the feeling I’d touched an exposed nerve.

“It’s no big deal,” she said.

I’d never been certain how far things had gone between Grace and Cleve. Had they had sex? They’d gone out together for eight months and although I couldn’t picture it—I didn’t
want
to picture it—I suppose they had. The one thing I knew for sure was that she’d loved him. Even now, his pictures dotted her dresser and desk and the bulletin board behind the computer. She
still
loved him. I wished I could make the hurt go away.

“I remember what it was like when your father and I were separated,” I said.

“Separated? What are you talking about?”

“Oh, I don’t mean while we were married,” I said. “I mean when he went away to college while I was still in high school.”

“Well, the big difference with you and Daddy being separated was that Daddy didn’t break up with you before he left.” She looked surprised at herself for giving me a glimpse into her emotions. I needed to capitalize on that glimpse.

“I know, honey,” I said. “I know how hard it must be.”

“No, you don’t,” she muttered.

“I know it’s different than it was with your dad and me, but the way I dealt with being apart from him was to get busy. Get involved with things. Take
action.
” I leaned toward her. “I wish you could see how that would help you, Grace.”

“I am totally involved with things!” she snapped. “I’m working at the Animal House and going to school and now doing the stupid babies program. What more do you want?”

“All that’s good,” I said, “but it’s all work and no play, isn’t it? You could branch out a little, honey. I know you love Jenny, but you should do things with other friends, too. When your dad and I were apart, I made friends with Emerson and Noelle. I got into my studies and acted in plays.”

“Yeah, you were Miss Perfect, like always,” she said.

“I’m not saying that,” I said. “I’m just trying to tell you some possible ways to cope.” I twisted my wedding ring on my finger. I was doing that a lot lately whenever I felt tense. Whenever I felt as though I needed Sam by my side.

“You just stay busy so you don’t have to think about anything,” Grace said. “So you can forget about how messed up your life has gotten.”

“Oh, Grace.” I shook my head. “It has nothing to do with that. Being involved in things is just healthy.” I stopped twisting my ring and laid my hands flat on my thighs. “You know,” I said, “we haven’t talked about this in a while, but I wish you’d seriously consider joining the drama club. You don’t have to
act
. You’re such a good writer. You could write plays. I know you’re afraid it would seem weird, since I’m the—”

“You don’t know me at all!” She slapped her notebook down on her desk. “I’m not you, okay? I don’t deal with stuff the same way you do.”

“No. I know you don’t.” I slumped a little on her bed. I was failing with her again. “And that’s okay. It was just a thought.”

“I really need to study.” She lifted her biology book an inch or two off her lap to show me how I was interrupting her.

“All right.” I pushed myself off her bed, walked over to her chair and leaned down to give her a hug. She was stiff as a board beneath my arms. “I’ll call you when dinner’s ready,” I said.

I left her room, shutting her door behind me, and stood in the hallway feeling frustrated and a little lost. This chilly girl who treated me with such impatience and disdain was not the Grace I’d known and loved for sixteen years. This was a girl who was angry with me. I wasn’t sure exactly why. For going back to work only two weeks after Sam died? She’d been horrified by that, but I’d needed to stay as busy as possible to survive. Was she still angry I’d gotten rid of Sam’s things? Did she think I was betraying him by seeing Ian?