Garrett’s face was wooden, expressionless. “Okay, thanks.”
Beth touched his shoulder. He pulled away. He was so foreign to her. In six months, he would leave for Princeton and she would never know him again, not really. Such was the sadness of sons.
That night in Horizon was unlike any Beth had spent there. Because of the cold, she supposed-the cold changed things. For a few years, when Beth was in college, she had arrived in early May, when the house was chilly and damp. She kept the fireplace lit and walked around in her grandfather’s Irish fisherman’s sweater and jeans and thick socks. But those days didn’t come close to this kind of cold-a cold that required the Newtons to sleep in fleece jackets inside their flannel-lined sleeping bags in front of the fire. Winnie and Garrett brought the same gear they wore to Hunter Mountain-Bodnar ski jackets and Patagonia microfiber pants. Marcus had to make do with layers-T-shirt, long-sleeved T-shirt, sweatshirt, a fleece that he borrowed from Beth when the leather jacket he brought grew stiff and almost cracked.
They got a fire blazing, and when the sun went down they roasted hotdogs, made popcorn in an old-fashioned popcorn maker, and Beth got the stovetop working where she warmed up cider. They all took showers-Beth was the last one in and her hot water conked halfway through. She dried off as quickly as she ever had in her life and jumped back into her clothes.
They arranged their sleeping bags lengthwise so that everyone’s head faced the fire. Winnie and Marcus were in the middle, Beth and Garrett on either side. The kids talked about school mostly, and college. Beth drifted in and out of the conversation; her mind was consumed with her conversation with David and with her own discomfort. She interrupted them.
“Tomorrow,” she said, “we’re checking into the Jared Coffin.
” Before they could protest or cheer (Garrett and Marcus were all for it; Winnie liked things just as they were, cozy like this), the phone rang.
Piper was in labor.
“Her water broke right in the middle of The West Wing, and now her contractions are a minute and a half apart,” David said. “We just got to the hospital a few minutes ago. You can either come now-it might mean a long time waiting-or I can call you when the baby is born.”
Beth looked at the kids. Even Marcus’s expression was that of the keenest interest. They would never sleep, that much was clear.
“We’ll come now,” she said.
Compared to Horizon, the hospital was positively tropical. Beth shed a layer of clothing before they reached the admitting desk.
“Which way is labor and delivery?” she asked.
A nurse directed them upstairs. Standing in the elevator, Beth squeezed Garrett’s hand. He squeezed back.
“It’s going to be okay, honey,” she said. “Babies are born all the time, every day, all over the world.”
“I know, Mom,” he said.
The elevator opened on the second floor and they followed signs. Beth was hurrying, though she, who had been in labor for eighteen hours with the twins, knew how long it could take. They came upon a pastel-colored waiting room filled with overstuffed sofas and chairs. The kids flung themselves all over the furniture-yes, it was more appealing than sleeping on the floor of that icebox. There was a woman on one of the couches reading a copy of Martha Stewart Living, and she looked up, alarmed at the invasion. She was very attractive, with honey-colored hair tied back in a braid. The woman looked them over, no doubt wondering what they were doing there-this was a maternity ward, not the common space of a college dorm. The woman opened her mouth to speak.
“Beth?” she said.
Beth smiled, politely at first, flipping through her mental Rolodex. Who was this?Then a quiet panic infiltrated and she fought to keep her smile steady. She really had been out of touch in New York. Because although she had given the impending birth of this baby hours and hours of thought, never once had it occurred to her that she would have to see Rosie. But here she was-of course- Rosie Ronan, Piper’s mother. The other grandmother.
“Oh, God, Rosie,” Beth said. In her mind, Beth realized, she had filed Rosie away as “absent.” Like Arch. Not there. Beth went to the woman and took both her hands, even went so far as to kiss her on the corner of the mouth. This was so awkward. More awkward than the cocktail party so many years ago when Rosie introduced Beth to a friend as “David’s old flame,” right in front of Arch. At the time, Beth had swilled deeply off her glass of Chardonnay, and Rosie laughed and said, “Well, we’re all adults, right?What’s passed is past!” Now here she was-hadn’t aged a day in six years-if anything, she was prettier than ever. Beth turned Rosie toward the kids who were halfway to sleep-who could blame them?it was eleven o’clock and the day had been long-and said, “Winnie, Marcus, Garrett, this is Rosie Ronan, Piper and Peyton’s mother.”
Her kids, always polite with other adults, took a few seconds to process what Beth was telling them. Garrett groaned under his breath; he knew he should be the first one to his feet, knew it by the way his mother hit his name the hardest-this woman was, after all, sort of like his mother-in-law. Before Garrett could summon energy to stand, Marcus jumped up. Garrett was grateful for this; it gave him a few seconds to think.
“Marcus Tyler,” he said. “Congratulations on your impending good news.”
“Thank you,” Rosie said, with such a sense of entitlement that one might have thought it was Rosie who was having this baby. Beth wondered what she was doing out here in the waiting room, but before she could ask, she watched Garrett rise from the love seat. With a gallantry Beth rarely saw in him anymore, he introduced himself and then he introduced Winnie. “Garrett Newton, Mrs. Ronan, and this is my twin sister, Winnifred Newton.”
“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Rosie said. “Piper and Peyton and David are down the hall in a labor room. I’ve been banished for making too many suggestions.” She smiled sheepishly at Beth, and Beth, against her will, sympathized with her. It was always the mother who took the brunt of a teenager’s anger.
“Is Piper making any progress?” Beth asked. Just standing so close to the maternity ward brought it all back to her-how delivering a baby was a fight for ground, a struggle for centimeters, one painful contraction at a time.
“Some,” Rosie said. “She wants to wait for as long as she can before she takes the epidural. She read somewhere that it slows labor. She was moaning pretty loudly in there and she lost her dinner. The nurses here are outstanding. There’s a nurse back there with Piper now who was here when I had both Piper and Peyton. Of course, it wasn’t that long ago.”
“Only seventeen years,” Beth said, then felt like she had stated the unstatable. She removed her layers until she wore only a turtleneck and jeans. The hospital’s heating system blew hot, dry air out of a vent directly under Beth’s feet. “So I guess we’ll just wait then.”
“Is it okay if we drift off, Mom?” Winnie asked. She was curled up in a large armchair and Garrett and Marcus were each spread out on a love seat. That left a space on the sofa next to Rosie, who had returned to her magazine-perhaps hearing the blunt declaration of her daughter’s age upset her. Beth sat down, then said, “Garrett, do you want to at least tell Piper you’re here?In case she wants to see you?”
Garrett opened his eyes and stared at the acoustic tiles of the ceiling. He was so tired, this all seemed like a dream. He looked to Rosie Ronan, and she nodded at him. “That might be a good idea,” she said.