My mother was sitting at the table. “It’s Ross and Joan’s,” she said. “Sue Clements told me they got married last September and the baby was born just a few weeks ago. Ross’s parents retired to Florida, so it’s just the three of them in the house there now.”
I did the math in my head and felt a wave of disappointment that he had not married her simply because she was pregnant. He must have married her for love, then, the sort of love he and I could never have known because of all the forces against us. Would I ever get over it?
We saw the baby that evening. Joan carried him over to us in the backyard, cooing and showing him off. Although I didn’t ask to hold him, she carefully transferred him to my arms and I felt an involuntary pull of my nipples at cradling his beautiful warmth.
“His name is Ned Rosswell Chapman,” she said.
Charles leaned over and gently drew the blanket away from the baby’s cheek. Ned Rosswell Chapman sucked his fingers in his sleep.
“He’s adorable,” I said sincerely. I didn’t need eyes in the back of my head to know that Ross was approaching us from behind. It was some sort of sixth sense I had, so strong that I was not surprised when he suddenly appeared at Joan’s side, slipping an arm around her waist.
“What do you think of him?” he asked me, nodding in the direction of his son.
“He’s precious,” I said. I looked up at him and saw that he was gazing at me, the look in his eyes raw with desire. For me? For Joan? I didn’t know, and I looked quickly away from him, back to the face of his child.
We chatted a while about little Ned and about our honeymoon, and gradually the conversation shifted to the war, as it usually did in those days. Joan and I withdrew into silence as the men’s voices grew louder. Ross complained that the government was handing us propaganda about how well the war was going while hiding the truth about the number of casualties suffered. Charles argued back, showing a side of himself I had not known existed. Both men were strident and impassioned, and I could see the future mapped out ahead of us: Ross Chapman and Charles Bauer would never be friends. They were lawyer and doctor, on opposite teams. That night in our shared backyard, we forged the cool and contentious relationship with our neighbors that would remain for the rest of our years—even as our children became friends.
CHAPTER 29
I’d practiced every way of saying it, trying to find the words that would offer the path of least resistance when I presented the idea to Shannon. I should have known it wouldn’t matter. My daughter had her own plans.
I called her Friday morning, timing the call so that I’d reach her before she had to be to work but late enough that I knew she’d be up.
“Hi, Mom,” she said, apparently seeing my number on the caller ID of her cell phone. I took it as a good sign that she’d answered despite knowing it was me.
“Hi, honey,” I said. I was sitting on my bed, cross-legged, leaning back against the sham. I’d changed the sheets after getting up that morning, just in case: Ethan was coming to Westfield tonight. “How are you feeling?”
“You mean because I’m pregnant?”
No matter what I said to her, she seemed to take it as an attack. “I mean, in general,” I said.
“Fine.”
“I thought I’d call to see if you’d like me to make an appointment for you with my OB/GYN. I know you’d like her. She’s—”
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that,” Shannon interrupted me. “I already have a doctor.”
“You have?” I asked. My daughter was living a completely secret life. “Where are you…are you going to a clinic?”
“Not a clinic. It’s Dr. Myers-Blake in Morristown. She’s good. A friend told me about her.”
“Myersblick?” I repeated. I’d never heard of her.
“Myers-Blake,” she said slowly. “It’s hyphenated.”
The name was still unfamiliar to me. “But how did you pay?” I asked. “Our insurance—”
“Tanner sent me money,” she said, “but she
I was quiet, amazed that she had thought the issue through so carefully and thoroughly when her other recent decisions seemed to have been impulsively made. Through my bedroom window, I could see the massive oak tree Shannon used to climb as a kid. I missed that girl. I missed her so much. But I looked away from the window. The future was here and now.
“I’m proud of you for getting prenatal care on your own,” I said. “But please consider going to my doctor.”
“No,” she said. “I’m in charge of my life from now on.”
“Well, listen, honey.” It was time for a new tack. “Abby Chapman, Ethan Chapman’s daughter who is about twenty-six, is willing to talk to you about how she handled getting pregnant when she was about your age. She —”
“I’m handling it just fine, Mom.” Her voice was filled with irritation; I was losing her.
“I know you are,” I said. “But, see…what she did…and maybe you haven’t considered this option…is that she placed her baby with adoptive parents, and she—”
“Mother, would you please respect my decision?” Shannon asked. “How many times do I have to tell you I’m
