She restrained her laugh, chewing macaroni, but her shoulders flexed with amusement. He continued, “But Spanish is fun, and choir’s all right. Ohio was really fun.”
“That’s good.” Knitting her brow in mild concern, she added, “You seem to be making new friends here. Aren’t you?”
“Yeah. Temple’s pretty cool.”
“And Fairen? You seem to like her.”
Again he shrugged, this time looking away. His mother took the hint. “We’ll make a trip back to New Hampshire next summer,” she promised him. “The baby will be six months old by then, sitting up and everything. Can you imagine? And you’ll be able to see your old friends then. Jacob and Arne and Sam, all of them. You can call them anytime you want, you know. We’re not worried about the long-distance bills.”
“They have their own lives,” he said. “I’m out of the loop now. And guys don’t talk on the phone like girls do. You know that.”
“I do know that.” She put her hand over his. “I never intended to uproot you in the middle of high school, sweetie. I’m sorry we had to do that. But your dad’s business is doing much better here. He’s got so much work now, he needs to hire three more full-timers.”
“Yeah,” said Zach, and his voice sounded abrupt even to him. This was not the subject he wanted to talk about. The more his parents took the time to explain why they were in Maryland, the more it all felt like a ruse. For all he knew, it might have been the truth; maybe it all came down not to paternity, but to carpentry. Yet trying to believe that forced him to consider the possibilities more than he already did. He just wanted to accept his circumstances and get on with his new life. That new life, after all, offered enough dramas of its own without him dragging in theoretical ones from New Hampshire.
The doorbell rescued him from further musing. “Rhianne’s here,” he said. “I’ll let her in.”
The visit was perfunctory. She listened to the baby’s heartbeat, dipped the little test strips into her urine, and told Zach’s mother to get a glucose tolerance test, which caused Vivienne to balk.
“You know I’d rather not have any of those sort of interventions,” Vivienne told her.
“This isn’t an intervention, this is a diagnostic,” Rhianne explained. “Your sugars are a little high. It’s a good idea to get it done, in case you’ve got gestational diabetes.”
“It’s probably just carbs from the macaroni and cheese I just ate.”
“Maybe, maybe not. We’ll find out. It’s not the first time you’ve tested high.”
Vivienne held her open hands on both sides of her waist—or where her waist
“You’re forty-one years old,” said Rhianne, “and your sugars are higher than normal. It’s up to you, if you’re not concerned about delivering an eleven-pounder.”
Vivienne grimaced. Rhianne patted her knee and said, “I’ll see you in a couple of weeks. I’ll leave the paperwork on the dining table.” Then she beckoned Zach to follow her to the door.
“Is my mom going to be okay?” he asked in the foyer.
“She’ll be fine. It’s a routine test. She probably had it done with you.”
“She probably didn’t.”
Rhianne smirked and offered him the drawstring bag. He reached in and pulled out a whole handful.
“Whoa,” she said. “Fun to have them around, huh?”
He responded with the broad bashful grin of a guy caught being most impressive, and crammed the freebies into his jeans pockets.
“Is this a new development in your life?” she asked.
“Sort of.”
“Want to talk about it?”
He shook his head. “It’s safe and all. I’m covering up. And she’s on the Pill.”
“Good, but there are other things that matter, too. Mutual respect, emotional maturity, things like that.”
“Yeah, I got that stuff, too.”
Rhianne laughed. “Are your parents aware?”
He felt his expression go instantly serious. “No. And don’t say anything to them, all right? They’ve got enough going on. They might freak out.”
“Not a problem. You can trust me to keep your confidence.” Her smile was tight-lipped but warm. “And whenever you want to talk, I’m here.”
The chances he would ever discuss Judy with Rhianne were exactly zero, but nevertheless, her kindness touched him. “Thanks,” he said, and opened the door to hurry the conversation to a close. “Well, seeya.”
On Friday I took a half day to visit Maggie at college, now that she was all settled in. The drive up to St. Mary’s took two hours each way. Past Baltimore the roadside landscape of metal poles broke to real trees, the hills grew higher and higher, and my thoughts began a tug-of-war between Maggie and Zach.
In her most recent phone call—which had been a while ago, come to think of it—Maggie had told me she had decided for sure on a major in biology.
