Barnegat Bay - 19. Chapter 19

The baby was born on April 16th. “You’re right,” my father said. “Not the Fourth of July.”

“And not a bruiser,” my mother added.

“Nope,” Mary told them. “Just a normal, healthy, seven-pound baby girl.”

“So not early, either,” Dad pointed out.

“I wouldn’t know about that,” I said. “I’m just a doctor.”

“And a father. Congratulations.”

And he shook my hand. And my mother hugged and kissed me and then practically climbed into the hospital bed with Mary – she was trying that hard to be helpful. Though fortunately – after that – my parents both stopped counting and just loved the latest addition to our family.

And when Mary came home, four days later, and we were soon both taking care of the baby – because, technically, I knew a bit more about infants than she did, motherly instincts be damned – my mother was there. And my father. And Claire.

Actually, Claire had never left the city. She came in as soon as Mary started toward the hospital – or as soon as my father made the call.

“Why?” he’d asked.

“Because she’s Mary’s best friend.”

I shouldn’t have needed to tell him that.

“Your mother’s best friend was never there.”

I couldn’t tell if he was approving or not, but it didn’t matter – I had more important things to do. I was still thinking about not delivering the baby and asking someone with more experience – I didn’t want anything to go wrong. But if it did, I wanted to be there to help.

Mary never questioned that. “You’re my doctor. I want you to be there.”

“Thanks.”

We were strolling toward the hospital. Not rushing because it was only six blocks. We lived on 82nd Street, and the hospital was just down Amsterdam, on 76th.

“It’s nice to know there’s a funeral parlor next door,” Mary joked when we reached it.

“Don’t even think that way.”

“You know I’m not serious.”

“We don’t have the money for that one, anyhow. And it’s largely Jewish.”

“Isn’t that what I am? On our license?”

“As much as I’m Catholic.” I grinned. “And no, you’d never be considered Jewish till you converted. And if you went through all that, you’d probably know more about my religion than anyone in our family.”

It was nothing we’d honestly thought about. My parents didn’t care, and by the time Mary had finished the long process, we’d probably be divorced. Her converting might even complicate that. As we walked, we were mostly talking to make conversation. While something much bigger, once again went out of our control.

Still, it all went smoothly. Her labor wasn’t easy, and it wasn’t short. But by the time it was over, Claire had been waiting for a half-dozen hours, and my parents had been at the hospital even longer.

“I would’ve gotten here sooner,” Claire told me when she had the chance. “But I had to persuade my father.”

“To do what?”

“Understand. He stupidly asked, ‘Is it always going to be like this?’”

“Mary having babies?”

“My running off to friends. When Dad felt he needed me.”

I was surprised. And Claire was, too.

“Especially since I’ve been telling him for a month. And reminding him I didn’t know when, and it would come suddenly, but I’d be gone for at least a week.”

She laughed.

“And it’s not like he and my mother never had children. But he seemed to think this was my excuse to get out of the office.”

“Well, that’s good – isn’t it? That he didn’t want you to leave?”

“In most ways. But it would’ve been nice if my mother had offered support.”

“What did she say?”

“Nothing. She’s the one who taught me restraint.”

As we laughed at that, we were heading to see the baby. Mary was still asleep, since the drugs she’d been given were fairly strong. She hadn’t even held the baby yet.

“She’s tiny,” Claire said, first thing.

“They always look that way. And Mary’s small.”

“But Spence isn’t.”

“He should be here,” I said instinctively.

Claire grinned. “That would be complicated.”

“I’m here.”

“Are we going to pretend he’s your best friend?”

“No – I’m not sure anyone knows Spence that well.”

“Mary,” she offered.

“You think so?”

Claire reconsidered, then shook her head.

“Though Mary and I have talked about it. About what she likes about him – and knows. And what she’d like to know. It turns out the thing she likes best is how he throws himself into things – like dancing. And how good he is with the children on the beach. And how calm he always seems compared to Mike and Larry.”

“Wild monkeys would be.”

“And Al?”

“He’s fairly low key.”

“I like the guys.”

“So do I. But they sometimes need to be quiet.”

“And sometimes Spence needs to talk.”

“Obviously, he and Mary found a way.”

And we both laughed.

When Mary woke up, Claire and I were with her, and a nurse soon brought the baby.

“What are we going to name her?” Mary asked.

“I thought you had that worked out.”

“We have several choices – at least, for first names. The others have to be traditional.”

Those were a middle name, one for baptism, and – eventually – one for communion.

“We’re going to try out some first names,” Claire reminded me. “And see how she responds.”

I had to laugh at that. As I had when it was first suggested. “You might want to see what you want to call her every day. And my thought is – keep it short.”

“That’s so much a man’s idea,” Mary poked. “You’d never have the patience to call me Maria Theresa.”

“It sounds like a saint. ‘Maria Theresa, come in here and eat your dinner.’”

“What would you shorten it to?” Claire asked.

“Mary. But that’s already taken.”

“You know we never considered anything that long.”

“Probably. You don’t think I listened to everything you said.”

I got another poke for that, this time from Claire. Still, by the end of the week, we’d all grown comfortable with Ann. Though the birth certificate said “Girl Baby,” followed by my last name.

“Are you going to keep that after we’re divorced?”

I hadn’t asked Mary that before.

“If I don’t, won’t people think terrible things?”

“About you?”

“About Ann.”

“But why would you keep my name? It doesn’t makes sense.”

“I will till I marry. To keep things respectable.”

“You know I don’t need that.”

“And other people?”

Claire agreed. Though the more I thought about it, the more I realized it wasn’t something my mother would do. Of course, it would be hard to ask her.

“No,” she told me, when I finally found a theoretical way. “I’d take the baby and me back to my family name as soon as possible.” Then she just looked at me. “But why are you asking? It’s never going to happen.”

In that moment, I realized how hard it was going to be for my mother to part from her supposed first grandchild. And if I’d had any sense, I might have wondered the same about me. But, as usual, I was too busy with other patients and had slipped right back to my job.

Claire stayed at the apartment while Mary was in the hospital, sleeping in our bedroom. Then she moved to the extra bed at my parent’s place when Mary came home. It wasn’t hard to explain to my folks why I was sleeping on the couch.

“Mary’s a light sleeper,” I said. “And she needs all the rest she can get.”

Maybe for the same reason, we didn’t tell Mary’s family till the end of the month. That gave us two more weeks we didn’t have to cover. If the pregnancy had happened on our honeymoon, that was seven-and-a-half months – just a little premature and not at all unusual.

We weren’t planning to go to Toms River till the weather was warmer anyway, and we’d appeased Mary’s family by saying the baby would be on Barnegat all summer, when they’d have plenty of time to visit. That was fine with them. Mary’s mother didn’t like coming to the city, and her father was always busy with work. Her sisters did come in for a Saturday, and they stayed overnight with my parents.

“I’m so jealous,” Mary’s youngest sister told us. “I want a baby of my own.”

“You’d better get a decent boyfriend first,” her slightly older sister warned. “The ones you’ve shown us have all been dopes.”

“But they’re fun,” the youngest sister defended. “And I’m not serious about a baby.”

Still, she wouldn’t stop holding Ann. And singing to her, and making faces.

“Poor Ann,” I told Mary later. “She just wants to sleep.”

“She does enough of that. And she likes the attention.”

By that point – a month – Mary was back to managing my office. We used my old answering service at night and had a telephone put into our apartment, so we could easily be reached. That hadn’t been necessary when I was sleeping in my store room.

“Every little expense,” Dad reminded me.

“I know – I know.” Then I countered: “How’s the brownstone hunting coming?”

He admitted he’d let it go in all the excitement.

But as our lives moved back to normal – me on house calls, Mary in the office, usually with the baby, the three of us having nightly meals with my parents, and Claire visiting almost every weekend – it all became expected. I liked having the baby wake me up in the morning before my alarm. Liked playing with her in her bassinet while Mary readied her food. Liked sneaking back to the apartment or the office to say hello to Mary and smile at the baby. And I liked holding her at night as she fell asleep, then gently passing her to Mary to put in her bassinet. I even sometimes fell asleep on Mary’s bed, listening to the quiet noises Ann made.

“Time to get up, Doc,” Mary would finally say.

“It’s still dark out. It can’t be time for work.”

I’d said that drowsily one evening. Then suddenly sat upright.

“Or did we get an emergency call?”

“No – it’s a couch call. It misses you.”

“How will it feel when we’re on Barnegat?” I joked right back. Then, more accurately, I asked, “What are we going to do in that tiny apartment? Especially with your aunt around?”

Obviously, Mary’s aunt would be there less often than before, and maybe only during the week, when I was in the city. But the rest of the time, we’d be sleeping in a pair of twin beds.

“We could get a double one,” Mary suggested.

“And where would I sleep? On the floor? There’s no room to even hide a mattress.”

“We could put Ann between us.”

“That’s not a good idea. One of us could roll over her. And even though it’s summer, and there wouldn’t be any heavy blankets, she could smother in a light one. And...”

And then I stopped. Because Mary was staring at me.

“What was that about?” I later asked Claire – because I knew Mary had told her. Claire stared for a moment, too, as if maybe thinking what to say. Or maybe deciding whether to say anything at all. We were outside, in Central Park, and Mary was a short distance ahead.

“Haven’t you realized she’s in love with you?” Claire finally asked.

At first, I thought she was fooling. “Mary?”

Claire nodded. Seriously. And I had to do some very fast thinking.

“And how do you feel about that?” I asked – half knowing it was to distract Claire.

“That’s not the question,” she told me. Then she smiled. “And I asked you first.”

“That’s childish,” I said, grinning. And to delay further.

She agreed but didn’t go on. Maybe because she didn’t know how.

And either did I. This was all very different from what I expected. And what I wanted.

“I’ve been watching it happen,” Claire continued quietly. “First, you fell in love with the baby. Then with the idea of family. Then – whether you know it or not – with Mary.”

“That’s not right,” I insisted. “I love you.”

“And I love you for saying that, Doc – but this is different. Last summer was for the beach. This is permanent.”

“No. You’re the person I’m most comfortable with. You’re the one I can always talk to. If not, I’d be having this conversation with someone else.”

“Like Mary?”

“Yes!”

“You don’t have a lot of private conversations – not with me or anyone. And if you think Spence is hard to figure out...”

Actually, Spence was easy for me. But I knew what Claire meant. And Mary. Still, I needed to think about myself.

“Am I really that bad?” I asked. A little surprised.

“You’re always working,” she said. “Even when you’re lying on the beach, supposedly relaxing. You’re never really with us.”

“Well, I’m a little older...”

“Your mother said you were always like that.”

“Now you’re ganging up.”

“We learn any way we can,” she almost joked. “And your mother’s always ready to teach.”

“How much does she know?” I had to ask.

Claire shrugged. “Nothing more than we’ve told her. But she – and your father – know how much you love Mary.”

I studied Claire. “And how do you feel about that? And this time, you’ve got to tell me.”

“Well, Mary and I...”

“Jesus!” I interrupted, suddenly almost angry. “Am I the last to know?”

Claire just laughed.

“And how do you feel?” I went on. “Will you tell me? Honestly? I’m not having you hurt in any way.”

She just started to laughed. “You’re such a nice man, Doc. How could anyone not be in love you?” Then she hesitated. “And I am. I do. I’ll probably always be in love with you. But I’m not selflessly giving you up for Mary.”

“Then what?”

“Well... and this is hard to say. But I’ve realized a couple of things about myself this year – watching the two of you. And I really think you’d be happier.”

“Damn it. People are making choices for me I never meant.”

Though I realized I’d been making choices, too.

And I told Claire as much. And later Mary – when she and the baby got closer. And then I needed to be alone.

I knew Claire and Mary would talk about me as soon as I left. So I gave them the chance. If only so I could walk.

The thing was that Claire had it exactly right – and I knew it immediately. I knew I’d always love her and would want to share her life. And I didn’t know how to resolve that. But it’s not like we’d never see each other. And I loved Mary. And Ann. And our family. Even if I didn’t know if Mary really shared my feelings.

“Of course, I do,” she quickly told me. “I’ve loved you for months and didn’t know what to say.”

“Because of Claire?”

“Because of all of us. I knew she might understand. I might be able to explain. She isn’t stupid. But I worried about you.”

“And she helped you?”

“I’m not sure. We both knew she could love you. And could spend the rest of her life with you. And be happy – as long as she also worked.”

“That isn’t a problem. I was raised to expect that. In so many ways, I’ve been looking for it.”

“But who did you expect to marry? What kind of woman?”

I’d thought about that before, so the answer was easy. “Someone intelligent. And independent. And educated.”

“Everything I’m not.”

“You can’t think that way.”

“Claire and I have always been surprised that we’re friends – let alone so close.”

“Because you’re just as bright as she is. You have the same business sense. And if you’ve missed going to college – well, half of it’s useless, anyway – so much repetition of everything you know.”

“That can’t be true.”

“It is. If I’d met you first – and if there hadn’t been Claire...”

I didn’t need to say the rest. And I didn’t have the chance. Mary simply kissed me.

“But what about Spence?” I finally asked – I had to. “I’ve always thought... after we got through this summer. After you and I were divorced, and we’d explained it all to him. After he’d graduated, and found a job, and had worked for a while... well, I’d always thought the two of you would get married. As intended.”

“I don’t want to marry Spence, Doc. I don’t love him. Not like I do you.”

There was nothing I could say. And I knew not to try. But we all knew we had to tell Spence. We needed to give him a chance. We just did.