Chapter 29
The next morning, Macallan and I waited for the school bus, discussing the pumpkins we had staggered on the porch. Di was resting in the guest room. Ever since she’d told me about her illness and the tragedy involving her younger son, the real reason she had moved to Massachusetts, I felt I understood her better. She didn’t miss family. Callie’s presence was incidental. Di no longer annoyed me. She was a complicated woman, a woman with lots of secrets. I realized she must feel comfortable around me, or she wouldn’t have told me a thing.
A car pulled up. As soon as Callie noticed the Subaru, she raced to Lisa as though she’d believed her mother would never return.
“Mom is home,” I said. “She must have missed you too much.”
Lisa scooped her up. “I missed you!”
“What about me?” I joked.
Lisa kissed me hello. “Eh, you’re all right,” she kidded. “How did things go? Are you buddies with Di yet?”
“Oh, that cream puff. We’re best friends now.”
“I knew you would work it out. Thanks for being here, Mom.”
“Is Dad coming?” Callie said.
“Not today.”
“Why not?”
“He’s working, Callie.”
“When will he be home?” Callie asked.
I wondered that as well.
“He didn’t say. But he did say he can’t wait to see you. Now look at those pumpkins!” Lisa said, pointing to the porch. “All such unusual shapes.”
“Exactly, Mom! We went to the Picking Place and searched for the four funniest-looking pumpkins we could find. It was Grandma’s idea. She didn’t want ugly ones to feel bad because they weren’t chosen. I guess I shouldn’t say the U-word in front of the pumpkins.”
Lisa laughed. “I’d say these pumpkins are out of shape.”
“Like Grandma was when she came here, but now she runs for exercise.”
I had put in three miles a day, and I was proud of myself.
The bus appeared with a belch.
“Do I have to go?” Callie said to Lisa.
“Yes, you do.”
“But it’s not fair. You just got home. I want to be with you.”
“I’ll be here after school.”
“Unless you’re not here,” Callie mumbled as she turned toward the waving bus driver.
Callie boarded reluctantly.
Lisa said, “Mom, I’d like to talk. Let’s take a walk.”
No one ever walked to share good news. Only bad news required movement of the legs. And, if Lisa had something positive to divulge, what was with her serious tone? As I placed one foot in front of another, I sensed impending doom. What could be wrong? I thought of what Annie had told me about Lisa and Brian fighting. Lisa remained quiet, pensive, until we were well down the country road.
At last, she said, “My life is about to change. Radically.”
I turned to her, dreading what she was about to say. A lone car rushed by. “How’s that?”
She took my hands.
How bad could it be, I wondered.
“Mom, I’m pregnant!”
I was breathless with surprise. I hugged Lisa, practically crushed her. Then I backed off, remembering she was pregnant. What a relief. Obviously, she wanted to tell me before she told Callie. I thought of my mom. She believed it was bad luck to announce a pregnancy before the second trimester. On the afternoon I called to tell her I was pregnant with the twins, her bridge club was meeting at her house. I said, “Mom, I’m pregnant.” She said, in the tone of a government official, “I’ll have to call you back.” She rang later, said she couldn’t say mazel tov because it was too early for her friends to know.
I was mistaken about walking meaning bad news. This news was terrific. Callie would have a brother or a sister. Someone to play with, complain about, love. There’d be a substantial age difference, but so what? I imagined Callie as a role model. “When are you due?”
“April 8.”
“I have nothing to do that day! I’ll be here.” I counted on my fingers. “Wait. April? You’re four months in?” I zoomed in on her belly. If I’d been looking for signs of pregnancy, I would’ve noticed she was on her way. But I hadn’t thought about that. Instead, I was occupied with concern that her marriage was in trouble.
Lisa was in her second trimester. Why hadn’t she told me sooner? “I can’t wait to call your father. Are you hoping for a boy this time? What’s the difference—long as the child is healthy? I can’t wait to start shopping for infant clothes. I’ll buy size six months instead of newborn so the outfits will fit for a while. Lisa, tell me, how do you feel?”
“I’m fine except for sudden nausea no matter what I eat.”
“Crackers. Try crackers.”
“I saw a sonogram. The baby is great.”
“We only have great babies. Look at you. Look at Callie!”
“I hope it’s a boy,” she said. “One of each, you know.”
“As long as the little one is healthy. I can’t wait to tell Dad and your brothers.”
“The Pilgrim won’t enjoy my news. She’s been trying to conceive for a while.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Like the Pilgrim wants you to be in on anything.”
True, I thought.
Lisa paused. “Mom, there are complications.”
“With the Pilgrim?”
“Yes, she has a stick up her ass. No. With me.”
“I guess you’re concerned because Brian’s living in Boston. I’ll help. Di will pitch in if you ask—and, what about Grannie Annie?”
She frowned. “Di will not take care of the baby.”
“Hmm. You’re probably right. I learned something during this visit—there are all kinds of grandmas. Before I came here, I assumed Di would be overwhelmed with love for her grandchild, taking her everywhere, spoiling her rotten. In fact, I was jealous that she gets to be here all the time, face to face, with Callie. But no more. I realized that Di is a completely different kind of grandmother. Anyway, Dad would like to move here. I was dead set against it, but the longer I stay, the more I see things from his perspective. And now—with a second grandchild!”
“It’s not any of that.”
“What then?” I asked.
“Di will have no interest in the baby because I’m having the child with another man.”
“Another man?”
“As in, not her son. Not Brian.”
Suddenly, I felt as though I had been slammed with a brick. My head throbbed. I backed up a step, concentrating on what Lisa was about to say. What was she about to say?
“I’m in another relationship.”
I shook my head as though to wake myself up. My eyes dilated.
And then she said it again. “I’m in another relationship.”
“I heard you the first time. I got it. With whom?”
“A man.”
“I know—a man. Who is he?”
“Will,” she said, like an actress smoking a cigarette after having sex in a bad movie.
“Will who?”
“Will Cook.”
I didn’t want his last name. I wanted to know who he was. “How did you meet?”
“He’s a chef.”
“He’s a chef, and his last name is Cook?”
“He’s like Di. He rechristened himself—for publicity purposes. He owns Rockwell’s,” she said proudly.
“I didn’t know the Norman Rockwell Museum had a cafeteria.”
Lisa chuckled. What was so darn funny?
“No, Mom. Not the museum in Stockbridge. His destination restaurant. Reservations are by lottery. If you want to dine at Rockwell’s, you send a postcard for a lottery in the spring, cross your fingers, pray to be chosen at random for a seating.”
“It’s that popular?”
“Well, I could get you in.”
Wow. A restaurant so remarkable you had to have a baby with the owner to get your mother a table. “Are you certain the baby is his child?”
“Brian and I haven’t had sex in two years.”
Was that a record among her peers?
“In any case, chances are there’ll be little question who the father is when the baby is born.”
Such an odd thing to say. “What does that mean?” I asked.
“Will is Black.”
“I see.”
She paused. “How do you feel about that?”
“I don’t care about race. I care about you.”
“Mom, I’m in love with Will. He’s the one I should have married in the first place. When you meet him, you’ll see why. He has it all. The man is a dream. I asked you to come to Woodfield so I could go to Boston to tell Brian I’m pregnant with Will’s child.”
She had said she would be handling many things at once.
“I’m sure Brian anticipated the end, that our meeting in that deserted hotel bar would be the last blow to our marriage,” she said.
Dumbstruck, I envisaged my daughter settling across from Brian, the innocent waiter stopping by to ask what they wanted to drink, waddling off with the order, Lisa hoisting the sledgehammer, the pregnancy, over Brian’s unsuspecting head. Or maybe Brian was suspecting.
“We’re over. I have a lawyer,” she said. “A woman, of course. I hired her weeks ago.”
I thought back to when Lisa had told me about Brian going to the diner with another woman and how she wasn’t going to tell him she knew. At the time, it seemed odd that a smart, independent woman like my daughter would bury her head in the sand. Lisa wasn’t that way. When she visited Florida later that year, Lisa and I lazed on chaises. Callie was occupied—on the steps of the pool filling cups with water. Lisa made a point of letting me know her marriage was fine, all was well—the end. Was it because she had something on the side as well?
We stood by an elm as she continued her reveal. I looked up into the bare branches. Lisa went into how handsome and talented Will Cook was, how much the house and the Farmer’s Daughter were worth. How all Brian had that he earned was his pittance of a salary as a professor, how she had signed a stringent prenup regarding his family trust.
“I was unaware of that,” I said.
“Di insisted. She said her money was prerevolutionary.”
I looked at her and she looked at me. Prerevolutionary?
“I thought Dad would go nuts, so I didn’t tell either one of you.”
Dad would’ve gone nuts. But then, he was going to go nuts about all this. As for me, it was as though Lisa had bashed me in the gut. Not because she was leaving Brian for another man, not because she had obviously chosen to have a baby with this Will Cook character, but because she had a strategy, a battle plan worthy of the US military on D-Day in France, but hadn’t uttered a syllable about Macallan, her daughter, my granddaughter, and how she would cope with this. Not one word about the pain her child was about to go through. My brain revolved around Callie. Her world would be demolished. Why hadn’t Lisa considered this? Or had she? Where was her head? Don’t answer that.
“You’re in love,” I said, trying to zip my overactive lip, demonstrate my appreciation of her situation.
“Yes. I hoped you would understand.”
I stalled. “Love is love is love. Any thoughts about Callie? How she’ll handle this, and how it will work out with Brian?”
She shrugged, which threw me off balance. Who shrugged in a situation like this? I shrugged when Suzy asked me if I preferred to take her car or mine to the spa in Miami.
“Brian will have to pay support.”
“I didn’t mean financially.”
“Well, I think Brian should stay in the house here with Callie from Friday to Sunday. But, of course, we’ll have to negotiate with lawyers.”
“And where will you be?”
“At Will’s.”
She said, “At Will’s” so casually, I wanted to scream. In fact, she sounded like a carefree teenager: Mom, I’ll be at Will’s. I’ll be home by curfew.
“He lives near his restaurant in Lenox. You’ll love his house.”
No, I won’t, I thought, while maintaining my nonjudgmental face, attempting without success to freeze it in time. I was astonished by Lisa. “And how long will that go on?”
“Until we settle the divorce. But you know, a lot of this depends on what Brian wants. And I don’t think he’s in the mood to be agreeable. I hired the attorney from hell, a mouthpiece, for that very reason.”
“Are you certain you will get custody?”
“I’m the mother.”
I wasn’t sure it worked that way. Lisa was so cavalier. She was a smart girl—what was she thinking? On the other hand, my daughter was a full-fledged adult, a mother herself, and there was no way I could shift the situation she was in. Despite my efforts to hide my trepidation for her, Callie, and the new baby, it was all painted on my face in thick strokes.
“What’s with the face?”
“Nothing. I’m here to listen.”
“Like I don’t know what you’re thinking.”
“I’m only thinking about Callie.”
“What, so you’ve pegged me as a lousy mother? What would you like me to do? Send Callie to live in a rented room in Boston every weekend? You know Brian. He’s fine with a squeaky bed and a three-legged desk. Trust me, I’ve thought this through. And I refuse to be judged by you.”
“Where is this coming from?” I stared at her, knowing full well where it was coming from. She was taking her situation out on me, the person most concerned with her welfare, most likely to rush to her aid. Blame your mother, Lisa. Blame your mother. No one else will take your guff and return for more.
She squinted her large brown eyes, the ones like mine. “Do you think you can judge me?”
I held my hand to my forehead. What next? “I’m not judging.”
“Of course you are. I know what you think. I’m not the mother you were.”
“Look, Lisa, honey, sweetheart, we mother differently.” Emphasis on the word “mother.”
“Really? What would you do in my place—if you met the man you wanted to spend the rest of your life with?”
“I would show concern for the child I had with the man I formerly wanted to spend my life with. In all your talk, I hear nothing about the effect this will have on Callie or a plan to make this calamity better for her.”
“Calamity? Did you say calamity? So, I should be like you? What do you know, Mom? You went straight from college to the world Dad created, forfeited a fantastic practice in SoHo, left New York to follow your spouse to Florida.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Really? You’ve never flown solo. What’s more, you put everyone else first. Well, Mom, I deserve happiness, and I’m stationing mine at the front of the line. Maybe it’s time you did the same.”
“This isn’t about me, Lisa.”
How would Lisa handle divorcing Brian, caring for Callie, making a new life with a new man, and having a baby, while managing a demanding restaurant and building an inn with her father? I still wasn’t convinced we had to relocate. But now what? I had no inkling what Brian would do once Lisa’s mouthpiece attorney succeeded in her mission. Was Will Cook intending to be an active father? If he ran an acclaimed restaurant and Lisa owned a top-notch establishment, where would they find the time to be involved parents? Did I need to be nearby to help my daughter?
Would Di be around, or would she take a powder once she knew the whole story—that Lisa had dumped her son? Maybe Di already knew. I recalled her beating up on Lisa, claiming it was my daughter’s fault Brian had forfeited his fantasy of being a journalist.
And what about Annie? On Halloween, she’d told me she wouldn’t live with Brian and Lisa. Too much fighting. But what if Brian remained in Boston, and there was a baby? Would Annie leave Milton—at last—and move into the house? Would she be Grannie Annie to the newborn?
How could I help Lisa realize she had to think of the children first? I couldn’t push her. I waited a few moments, leaned back. I went light. “Lisa, I’m sorry I didn’t breastfeed.”
“What’s that got to do with this?”
“You told me on the phone, I should have breastfed.”
She wiped her eyes, nearly smiled. Took it back.
“Mom, you think mothering is all about making sure your children have what they want. All I want is for my daughter to be content. So yes, I don’t fill the fridge to the brim. And I’m not at home many nights, and I depend on other people to care for Callie. And I don’t invite every kid in the grade to my daughter’s birthday parties. And I have a Christmas tree. So what? Callie is happy.”
I only invited every kid so no one would feel left out.
“One more thing . . . ,” she continued.
I had no idea what was coming.
“You act like I never ask you to come here. Do you need an engraved invitation? You’re welcome anytime. And when I discovered the Berkshires, you were still living in Manhattan, a few hours away. You’re the one who traipsed off into the land of eternal sunshine, causing this substantial geographic distance between us.”
It was true. And something I had considered when Jake and I made the move. But Lisa had just gotten married, and there was no Callie in sight. My twins? Michael was already in Los Angeles.
Alex was traveling in Europe between degrees.
“I can’t help it if you’re Dr. Busy. The last two times I asked you to sit, you said no. Flat out no.”
I could hear my heart beating. “Lisa, that wasn’t easy. But it was my best friend’s seventieth birthday. I was the one who planned the surprise party. Did you want me to shout surprise, throw confetti, from the clothing outlets in Lee?”
“Fine. And the time before that?”
“When?”
“Last February?”
“You’ve got to be kidding. I couldn’t leave my office. Max Slivovitz joined my practice that week. I had to be certain he was settled in. I offered to sit later in the month. I was willing to leave Florida in February but not on the precise date you wanted me.”
And what about now, I thought. I dropped everything this time, left my patients with bunions—and your father in misery. I would never have said no again. Three strikes—you’re out.
Lisa touched my cheek. A good sign. “I want you to do something.”
“Anything.”
“I want you to tell Dad about my situation. I don’t have the patience to listen to his prehistoric ideas.”
There was the ask. She wished for me to deal with Jake.
“You asked him to partner in your business.”
“Business is different than my personal life.” She wiped her sad brown eyes. I encircled her in my arms. She was still my little kid.
“Lisa, Lisa. Dad will be fine.”
“Oh, right, he was out of his mind that Brian wasn’t Jewish.”
“He never said anything to you.”
“He didn’t have to. I could hear his brain. Louder than a locomotive. Chug. Chug. Blow the whistle. She’s marrying out. If he wasn’t Jewish, why couldn’t he at least be part Italian? We’d be guaranteed some decent chicken parmigiana.”
I corrected her. “Lasagna. He said we’d get some good lasagna.”
“I want you to tell him.” Was she going to stamp her feet?
“I don’t think so, Lisa. That’s your job.”
“Now you take a stand?”