Chapter Twenty-Seven #2
With the windows rolled down, she drove home, veering onto the new Coronado Bridge with Jim Croce serenading her about time in a bottle.
As she turned onto her street, she saw a column of smoke rising from the chimney of her house, and she remembered that Henry was here to celebrate her birthday.
Twenty-seven.
She wasn’t so young anymore. Most of her friends from high school and college were already married, with children. Ethel sent so many baby pictures, Frankie had had to put them in an album.
She parked on the street and sat for a minute beneath a streetlamp, staring out at the black hump of the beach across the street.
It was time to tell Henry about the baby. She couldn’t handle this on her own anymore. The secret was tearing her up. And the loneliness it caused.
She would walk into the house, open the door, and tell him. She considered how to say it, turned the words over and over in her mind, rearranging them, trying first to soften and then to obscure and even to harden what she had to say, but in the end, it was simple and she just needed the nerve.
She opened the door of the cottage.
The place smelled of roasting meat and browning potatoes. No doubt it was Henry’s special recipe of chicken thighs, potatoes, and onion, browned in a cast-iron skillet and baked in the oven.
He was at the stove, wearing his favorite apron, which read LOVE MEANS ALWAYS HAVING TO SAY YOU’RE SORRY , over jeans and a long-sleeved California Angels sweatshirt.
“I’m home,” she said.
He spun around. “Happy birthday, babe!” he said, untying the apron, laying it over the back of a chair. He pulled her into his arms for a kiss. When he drew back, she was crying.
“What’s wrong, Frankie?”
“I’m pregnant,” she said.
His gaze searched hers. She had no idea what she wanted him to say. Nothing could make this moment what she wanted it to be. He was the wrong man and it was the wrong time.
“Marry me,” he said at last. “I’ll move in here. Give up my lease in La Jolla. You’ll want to be close to your parents.”
He looked so serious, gazed at her as if she were the very center of the world. Exactly how a man in love should look at the woman he adored. “Henry…”
“Why not? You know I’ve always wanted to be a dad. And this—love—it’s a thing I’m good at and you need it, Frankie, maybe more than anyone I’ve ever met.”
“I don’t…”— love you —“think I’m ready,” she said.
“This is one of those times in life where it doesn’t matter if you’re ready.
I hear it all the time from people: parenthood is a plunge into the deep end.
Always.” He looked so deeply, genuinely committed that it stirred her heart, gave her a glimpse of hope.
People married for all kinds of reasons, in all types of situations.
You never knew what the future might hold.
He was a good man. True. Honest. The kind of man who would stay, grow old with a woman, be there.
And she would need strength beside her for this. She wasn’t strong anymore.
“We could be a family,” he said.
She put a hand on her flat belly, thinking, Our baby . She had always imagined herself as a mother, a mom, but somehow her experience in Vietnam—that baby dying in her arms—had derailed her, planted fear where joy belonged.
She was surprised to find that the dream of motherhood was still there, wispy, uncertain, afraid, but there, tangled up with the hope she thought she’d lost.
It hadn’t come the way she’d expected, or with the man she’d expected, but nonetheless, it was a miracle.
A new life.
“Okay,” she said.
He pulled her close and kissed her so deeply, with such love and passion, she found herself believing in him. In them.
“We’ll have to tell my parents—”
“No time like the present,” he said. He turned and shut off the oven, covered the skillet on the stove.
Frankie didn’t want to tell her dad this news, that she was “in trouble,” and getting married, but what choice did she have? Pregnancy wasn’t the kind of thing that could be hidden for long, and the clock was already ticking.
“I’ve got you,” he said, taking her hand. “Trust me.”
She nodded.
Even though it was cool by Southern California standards, Frankie and Henry walked down the street, holding hands, not bothering with sweaters or coats.
Cars rushed past them, headlights on. The beach was a vast, empty swath of black to their right, with a rising moon cut into the sky. The houses along Ocean Boulevard were decorated for Christmas, with Santas and reindeer and white lights wrapped around the palm trees.
At her parents’ house, they crossed the backyard, which was aggressively decorated for the holidays, and went into the house, which boasted even more decorations. A huge tree dominated the living room.
Dad stood beside Mom at the bar, holding a silver martini shaker.
“Frances,” Mom said. “Happy birthday, darling! We didn’t expect you tonight.”
Frankie couldn’t let go of Henry’s hand; he felt like her lifeline. “Dad. Mom. I think you know Henry Acevedo. We’re… dating.”
“Henry,” Dad said, striding forward, smiling that big, inclusive smile of his, the one that made everyone feel welcome and important. “Good to see you again.”
“Dr. Acevedo,” Mom said, practically beaming.
Henry said, “Could I speak with you a moment, Connor? Privately.”
Dad frowned briefly, then nodded. “Of course. Of course.”
While the two men walked down the hallway, Mom sidled close to Frankie. “Is this what I hope it is?”
“Mom, I have never been able to divine your thoughts,” Frankie said. It had never occurred to her that Henry would formally ask Dad for her hand in marriage. It felt so old-school, so Ozzie and Harriet in this Bob & Carol & Ted & Alice world.
Moments later, Henry and Dad walked back into the room. “Bette, we will have a son-in-law! Welcome to the family, Henry!”
Mom gave Frankie a fierce hug. When she drew back, there were tears in her eyes. “A wedding. A grandchild. Oh, Frances, your whole world will change when you hold your baby in your arms.”
Henry moved in, put an arm around Frankie, held her so close she wondered if he thought she wanted to leave.
“Welcome to the family, Henry,” Mom said. Then she looked up at Dad. “We need champagne!”
When her mother limped away, Frankie turned to Henry, put her arms around his neck, and stared up at him. “Are you sure we need an actual wedding? How about a quick zip in and out to the justice of the peace?”
“No way. This baby is a miracle, Frankie. Love in this screwed-up world is always worth celebrating. When Susannah died, I thought it was over for me.”
She felt his love for her, for their child, felt his dream for them unfold and take flight. It filled her with hope.
“I want to see you walk down some aisle toward me and hear you say you love me in front of your family and friends. I want a baby girl who looks just like you.”
“Or a boy who looks like Finley,” she said, daring to dream it. “I guess that means there’s a honeymoon in our future.”
“Baby,” he said, “our life is going to be one long honeymoon.”