The Midwife's Confession

“Chapel Hill? Today? Why?”

She gave me her frustrated look. “There’s this girl,” she said. “She’s a graduate student and Jenny knows her and she—this girl—wants to see some friends in Chapel Hill, but she doesn’t have a car, so she’ll go with me and be my supervising driver and I’ll come back tomorrow.”

I was, for once in my life, speechless. Grace was terrified to get behind the wheel of a car and I was just as terrified to have her there. “Well, first of all,” I said, “you can’t go.”

“Mom, I told you not to just react!” She pressed her hands together even harder and her eyes were wide, imploring me. “Listen to the whole explanation,” she pleaded.

“Does this have to do with Cleve?” I asked, although that made no sense. Cleve was home for the weekend so why would she want to go to Chapel Hill?

“Yes,” she admitted. “He had to go back today and I absolutely have to see him. Plus, I want to see UNC, too, because I’ll probably be applying there.”

I knew that was bullshit. She might be applying there, but this sudden need to see UNC was such a weak excuse that even she knew it, and she turned her head away, unable to look me in the eye.

“You know that doesn’t make sense, Grace,” I said. “If you want to see Cleve, at least be honest with me and don’t make up some nonsense about wanting to see UNC all of a sudden.”

She flattened her hands on the table. “Cleve didn’t realize he had to go back early today and we didn’t get to finish talking last night and he asked if I could come.”

“Are you two back together?”

I could see her trying to decide how much to reveal to me. “He’s mixed up about us,” she said. “He thinks we should stay broken up, but we need to talk about it more and didn’t get the chance.” She frowned up at me. “I’m upset, Mom! I need to talk to him in person.”

“And where exactly would you stay?” I asked.

“With Jenny’s friend.”

“What’s her name?”

“Elena.”

“How does Jenny have a friend who’s a grad student?”

“She was… I don’t know. A neighbor or something. Do you want to talk to her? I can—”

“No, because you’re not going.”

“What if I let Elena drive instead of me?”

“No, Grace. I’m sorry you and Cleve are still struggling, but you’ll have to talk it out on the phone. If you want to go to UNC sometime in the future, we’ll plan it ahead of time. You’ll have to show me you’re comfortable driving first and—”

“Elena can drive.”

“This is too half-baked a plan, all right? You can’t go. I’m sorry, but this is a nonnegotiable.”

She sprang out of her chair. “You don’t understand!” she said, and in an instant, tears had filled her eyes.

“Then help me understand.” I caught her shoulders and held on tight as she tried to squirm out of my grasp. “Why can’t you and Cleve resolve this on the phone?”

She pried my hands from her shoulders. “I just wanted to go, that’s all!” She turned and headed for the stairs.

“Grace!” I called after her. “Don’t run off like that. Talk to me!”

But her footsteps skittered up the stairs and I lowered myself to a chair. I’d blown it again, yet I didn’t know what I could have said or done differently. This is normal, I told myself. Mothers and daughters fight.

I touched my cheek where I’d pressed it against her hair. I wanted to feel that sweet damp hair against my skin again. It had reminded me of when she was little and I’d hold her and rock her and she was so happy in my arms.

A long, long time ago.

40

Emerson

My plan was not going well so far. I hadn’t counted on Jenny feeling too sick to go out that afternoon, so I was anxious as I stood by the living room window watching for Ian’s car. The sky was gray and thick with clouds. We were going to get a downpour soon. In my hands I clutched Noelle’s record book and the thin file folder with her letter to Anna and copies of the information I’d printed from the Missing Children’s website.

I left the window for no more than a second to take the tray of leftover spanokopita out of the oven, and when I returned I saw his car out front but no sign of him, and I knew he was already heading up my driveway toward the side door.

People always just walked in my kitchen door without knocking, so I raced through the house to head him off, opening the door just as he was about to walk in. “Jenny’s home,” I whispered. “I was hoping she’d be out, but she’s sick, so just…play along with whatever I say.”

Ian frowned. “What’s going on?” he asked.

I put a finger to my lips. “I’ll tell you—”

“Hey,” Jenny said from the doorway to the kitchen. She was still wearing her pajama shorts and a tank top and her hair stuck out on one side.

“Hi, Jenny,” Ian said. “You’re not feeling well?”