Barnegat Bay - 16. Chapter 16

The best thing that happened in November was Franklin Roosevelt won the presidential election. Despite the fact that Mom and Mary had been walking all over the Upper West Side, they weren’t really worried about Roosevelt’s popularity, at least in New York. After all, he was the well-liked governor. Still, the fact that he won in almost every state and that his victory was considered a landslide -- though it was really well less than a two-thirds majority – made them feel they were part of something much bigger.

“The whole country wants to see the ‘do nothing’ policies of Herbert Hoover end,” Mom told us as we read the day’s papers the following evening. “And they want this depression to be over, now.”

I agreed with my mother, of course. Though it would have been pointless to mention that Hoover hadn’t absolutely been doing ‘nothing.’ He’d just been making bad choices. In any case, once we were sure the country might be headed in a good direction, Mary and I were able to consider something far smaller but more immediate in our lives – the New Year’s Eve reunion.

During the fall, when Mary and Claire were in contact with the gang, it was very carefully. They’d check with each other about what they were going to write, and to who, and whether it would be a postcard or a longer letter. Claire would occasionally mention me in her notes, as if the two of us were in loose but steady contact, and I was simply too busy with work to write.

“You know how Doc is when he gets focused on something,” she’d excuse. “And it’s the time of year when a lot of kids are catching colds.”

In her writing, Mary would purposely never mention me – or New York – and she’d mostly talk about her part-time work in her aunt’s store in Toms River, now that they’d closed the seasonal branch on Barnegat. There was occasional news back from the guys, and they expectedly talked about school, looking for jobs, and the work they were doing part-time.

“When we’re lucky, “ Al wrote. “And even then, it’s only a couple of hours a week – each.”

Sometimes one or more of them had gotten together with one or more of their late-summer girlfriends, when they “just happened to be visiting the city.”

“You’ll never guess who turned up in New York last weekend,” Mike had written, “claiming she ‘just had a hankering to see the Museum of Art.’ I’m not sure she can even spell ‘museum.’ Still, it was good to see her – and Al was drooling all over himself.”

“And she brought a friend,” Larry took over, because it seemed Mike had to run to class. “We hadn’t met her before, so that kept me happy. Spence was working that Saturday, and Mike just tagged along. Though later he told us it was better that way – cheaper for him because I had to pay for the girl.”

It turned out Larry didn’t mind, because in a later note, he mentioned, “I sure hope I get to see her again.”

In the same way, there were indirect reminders of New Year’s Eve.

“See you right after Christmas,” Al wrote.

“Catch up with you really soon,” from Mike.

“Wow, less than six weeks!” said Larry

Mary, Claire, and I talked about what we should do about the party. As much as we wanted to see everyone, we weren’t sure we wanted them to see us.

“Maybe you and Doc should go,” Mary suggested to Claire. “Just explain to everyone that I have a cold and don’t want to get anyone sick. I’ll write to Spence a few weeks before – like the middle of December – and say I think I’m coming down with something. Then it won’t be a surprise.”

“Maybe just Claire should go,” I put in. “And let you have a cold and me be busy with emergencies.”

“Maybe you should go alone,” Claire told me. “And tell the gang that Mary and I stupidly gave each other colds by going to too many Christmas parties. They’d believe that. You need to be on Barnegat anyway – to see your family.”

“Why?”

“For Christmas.”

“Why?”

She looked at me for a moment like I was a fool. Then she smiled. “Oh, that’s right. They don’t celebrate.”

Actually they did, but indirectly. Christmas was a big holiday for our bakeries.

“Still, you’re the one it’s most convenient for,” Claire had gone on.

“Once you ignore the two hour train ride.”

“But the guys know you’re used to that. You can do it in your sleep.”

“And often have.”

And we all laughed.

We finally decided it was easier for us all to go and just explain that slowly, over the fall, Mary and I had fallen in love and gotten married – especially after Claire and I realized that she wasn’t ready to leave her family business for at least a few more years, and I had no interest in moving outside the city.

“Kind of geographically star-crossed,” we joked, as if trying out the explanation.

We also thought we could avoid mentioning Mary being pregnant because – as she’d predicted – she didn’t look it.

“Well, I do – a little – but I can hide it under my clothes. Especially if I’m careful how I dress.”

“You don’t look pregnant at all,” Claire admitted. “And I’m probably more observant than the guys.”

“They’ll just want to have fun,” I said, laughing. “And dance.”

“What can we do about that?” Mary suddenly wondered. “Can I?’

“Maybe – if you avoid your quick, complicated moves.”

“I can’t do that. Especially if I dance with Spence.”

“Well, you can’t do slow dances with him,” Claire pointed out. “He’d notice the change as soon as he pulled against you.”

“Then I’d better not dance at all. But how?”

We thought about that.

“Say you’re just getting over the flu,” Claire suggested, going back to Mary’s idea about a cold. “And you really don’t have the energy.”

“Or you’re under doctor’s orders,” I joked.

They both grinned at that.

“The problem there,” Mary objected, “is when’ve I ever listened to my doctor?”

“When have you seen one so regularly?” Claire asked.

“You could say you twisted your ankle,” I offered. “You can even say ‘sprained,’ if that sounds more painful.”

“Ouch.”

“And you shouldn’t wear heels,” Claire added.

“But I’m shorter than everyone.”

“You’re not short,” Claire assured her. “Though you are the smallest.”

“In any case, I’ll limp,” Mary decided. “And I won’t dance at all. And that should take care of it.”

And it did. No one suspected a thing until we made our announcement.

“You did what!” Larry erupted.

“No, no, no – this is all wrong,” Mike quickly picked up. “Doc and Claire. Not Doc and Mary.”

Fortunately, he didn’t add the logical, “Mary and Spence.” But he’d been around Spence all fall, and maybe Spence hadn’t ever mentioned Mary. Her almost weekly postcards had been to the four of them, sent by way of Al, who she felt was most likely to reply.

“You really could’ve told us,” he said afterwards.

“We wanted it to be a surprise,” Mary offered. “For Christmas.”

“When did it happen?”

“How did you keep it secret?”

“And why?”

At that moment, they all turned to Claire.

“It’s fine,” she insisted. “I honestly wasn’t ready to get married. And Mary was.”

“But Doc? Wow!”

“Who’d‘ve thought it?”

“Quiet Doc.”

I hadn’t thought of myself as quiet. But I wasn’t their age, either.

All that came from Larry, Mike, and Al, but, so far, there’d been nothing from Spence. He just stood there, silently watching Mary.

“I wanted to tell you,” she soon told him – simply, though far too publicly for either of them to be comfortable. Still, Claire and I knew that Mary intended to talk privately with Spence – as soon as she could.

And that’s how we told the gang about our marriage. We did it early in the evening, so we could all go on with our party, and – as usual -- we had fun. At some point, Mary and Spence slipped out of the noisy ballroom – we weren’t the only people celebrating at Jenkinson’s – but I don’t know where they went to talk. The outside decks were cold, closed, and windy.

“He didn’t really have any questions,” she later told Claire and me. The three of us were staying at Claire’s family’s house. “He apologized for not writing more.” She smiled at that. “What did I get? Three postcards in as many months?”

“You didn’t write him, either,” Claire pointed out.

“We decided on that.”

“And – from what you said – neither of you made promises.”

“No – there was never anything said. We had kind of an agreement, but that was before I got pregnant. Once I definitely knew, I let things drift off. I just never wanted to tell him – or any man – that I’d stopped our baby. And I didn’t know how Spence would react.”

“Now, it’s not a concern,” I pointed out. “The baby’s safe.”

She slightly disagreed. “As safe as any baby can be.”

“Or anyone,” Claire added.

We left it at that and went to our separate bedrooms. We’d thought about asking the guys to stay at the house, but there wasn’t enough room for them and their girlfriends. So the guys were sharing one room at the only open hotel, and the girls were sharing another. Still, we all gathered at the house for breakfast the next morning then spent the afternoon together, again inside. It was too cold to be anywhere else.

We talked, and sang, and told jokes, and generally caught up on the past three-and-a-half months. We also belatedly celebrated my thirtieth birthday.

“How does it feel?” Larry asked. “Thirty, married, and a doctor.”

‘Makes me feel creaky just hearing about it,” Mike cracked. “We should’ve gotten you a cane.”

“And mustache wax.”

“And a toupee.”

“And a hernia belt.”

“Guys,” Spence interrupted.

Fortunately, I needed none of those things and told them I’d already had a month to practice being ancient. My actual birthday was just after Thanksgiving, and I’d celebrated it with Mary, Claire, my parents, my brother and sister, and our family

After an early dinner, the guys took the train back to the city, their girlfriends went in the opposite direction, and Claire drove Mary and me to Toms River. Mary and I had spent Christmas there, too, along with the next couple of days, surrounded by her parents, sisters, brothers, and other relatives. Of course, we had to sleep together, but we’d managed that for almost a week in Niagara Falls, and it’s not like Mary and I weren’t intimate. After all, I was her doctor.

“It’s almost unfair,” she told me at one point. “You’ve seen so much of me, and I don’t have the same privilege.”

“You’ve seen me in a bathing suit.”

“And about the only thing less attractive are the beach clothes women have to wear.”

No one was arguing that.

“You know what a man looks like undressed,” I shrugged off. “I’ve seen you paging through my medical books.”

“That’s not why I study them.”

“So it’s ‘study,’ now,” I said, grinning.

“If it were anything else, those photos would be even less interesting than men in their bathing outfits.”

“The drawings aren’t there to tempt you.”

“And that’s just it – they’re illustrations. For all their lack of clothes, they don’t show as much as some movie magazines.”

“Those can suggest everything. But if I need to know details about a woman’s private parts,”

“I’m sure you could figure them out.”

“Every bit helps.”

“Even after all the women you’ve seen?”

I wasn’t sure where she was headed, or if she was serious.

“To tell you the truth,” I said, carefully, “I’m usually looking at their babies. And you know that.”

“After they’re born. But what about before that?”

“Do you really think that’s why I became a doctor?”

“No,” she said, laughing. “You’re the noble knight your parents think you are. But if you really want the truth, well… we may be married on paper, but I actually know so little about you. And your personal life.”

“You are my personal life,” I said, honestly.

“I’ve become it – I know. But that’s only for a while. And do you miss all the parties you used to go to? All the women you used to see? Your parents talk about them. And whenever we meet some of your friends and other relatives, they joke about your no longer being available as the ‘eligible bachelor’.”

“I don’t miss them at all,” I assured her.

“But what’s filled it in? I have a new job – managing your office – and a baby coming – which I think about all the time. And I write to my family and friends and tell them as much as makes sense about our pretend marriage. But what about you?”

“The truth is – if you really want to hear more of this boring stuff… The truth is that the things I had to do socially were sometimes more work than my actual job – at least, less interesting. And the times I was most relaxed were during my summer weekends on Barnegat. I always looked forward to them.”

“But there were girls there, too – women. Do you ever think about them? And Claire?”

I laughed again. “I think about Claire whenever I have time to think about anyone. But she knows that this year I’ve given over to you. I promised.”

Mary considered that as we chastely snuggled into bed.

“She doesn’t seem to mind,” she went on. “You know she and I write all the time – and talk.”

“I know that,” I said, smiling. “I see the letters.”

“And she always mentions you.”

I laughed at that. “Now, you’ve got me trapped. If I say, ‘Good,’ I’ll sound like a jerk. And if I don’t say, ‘Good,’ I’ll sound even worse.”

“I just don’t want you to forget her.”

“Does that come above or below you’re wondering what I look like without my clothes?”

We both laughed at that. In fact, we had a pretty good laugh, and – in other circumstances – it might have led to something. But she was almost six months pregnant. And I was – above all else – her doctor.