Jane
Quietly dressing, she hurried down to the kitchen to make coffee.
As she waited for it to brew, she leaned against the counter, closed her eyes, and listened.
Everyone else was sleeping and she thought the silence of a house full of beloved family safely sleeping was different from the silence of an empty house.
Richer somehow, like honey rather than water.
She poured her coffee, opened the sliding glass door, and stepped out onto the patio. Early December in Nantucket could be pleasant. Today, it was chilly, with a pale sun hidden by drifting clouds.
She sank into her wicker chair, sighed, and closed her eyes.
In late August, when the three children left for college, she’d cleaned up their rooms. She laundered old forsaken clothes and gave them to the thrift shop.
She’d stacked piles of sneakers, sandals, flip-flops, and flippers tidily in their closets.
Finally, she’d taken a glass of iced coffee and settled on the deck, trying to pull herself together.
She’d always been the one to keep order in the family, to be sure they all had healthy food and clean clothes, to cuddle and soothe them—and instruct and discipline them.
Brick Three helped, in his way. When they were very young, he would put overwrought, howling babies in their car seats and drive them around the island, playing lullabies or toddler stories until they fell sleep.
He had always found time to attend the children’s recitals or games.
He certainly was the discipline champion.
All he had to do was raise his voice and the three children paid attention.
Now the children were adults, responsible for taking care of their own health and safety and happiness.
It had been hard for Jane in the beginning.
She’d sent care packages to their dorms, and she and Brick Three always drove to Boston for parents’ weekend.
She’d been so very much part of their lives—and then suddenly, she wasn’t.
When Lydia, her oldest child, left for college, Jane had felt the loss physically, as if her arms were empty. She was less upset when Florie went off, but when her youngest child, Lucas, left, she’d felt a painful, frightening loss. She couldn’t help it. She loved being a mother.
The morning Lucas left, Brick Three drove him and his luggage to the boat and then went on to his office.
Jane had stayed behind, alone, and as she waved one more goodbye, she felt how tender the late summer air was on her skin and in her breath, most of the humidity gone, a coolness calming the atmosphere.
She shut the front door and stood in the silent hall.
She began to understand, just barely, how it was to be one lone living creature in this house, on that day.
She learned to find her sense of calm outside, there in her backyard with the autumnal chrysanthemums and the marigolds.
She spotted a cardinal perched on a limb of their maple.
He was so beautiful. She wondered if he knew he was beautiful.
How did creatures know without someone to tell them?
Maybe they instinctively knew. Maybe they didn’t care.
The cardinal, or some bird perched high in the evergreen, began to sing. Another bird answered.
When their three children were all off-island in college, Jane and Brick Three fell into a kind of honeymoon relationship. They went to the Dreamland for “Film for Thought” and stayed for the discussions. They ate out more often and saw their friends more often. They made love more often. And now…
Jane was going to have a baby.
She wished that people’s desires were as clear and simple as a bird’s call.
She knew she wanted this new baby. She knew Brick Three did, too.
But she had no idea what her three grown children would think.
Probably they were too old to be jealous and too busy with their own complicated lives to feel excited.
And what would her friends think? Would they make fun of her behind her back?
Would they think she was trying to remain young?
And what about the child that would be born into this world, with no siblings living in the same house and parents old enough to be grandparents?
She knew the baby would be completely loved and cared for.
But what about when he or she was growing up?
Everyone had to deal with obstacles as they grew older and went to school and learned what their own bodies and minds were capable of.
And she knew all too well how critical teenagers were of their parents—when this baby was twenty, Jane and Brick Three would be sixty-four!
The child would be so embarrassed by them.
And what about Jane’s children’s children?
They might be the nephews and nieces of a preschooler.
Well, here she was on a perfectly lovely day, working herself into a panic instead of enjoying the children she already had who were home for the Christmas Stroll.
“I’m an idiot,” Jane said to the bird.
The bird chirped, sounding very much as if it agreed.
Jane returned to the kitchen to prepare breakfast for her family.