At that moment her cell phone rang. It was Jordan.
“It’s a boy!” he said. “Eight pounds four ounces, ten fingers, ten toes. Mother and child are both doing fine.”
“A boy!” Zoe cried out.
“A boy!” Penny and Hobby shouted.
“Ernest Price Randolph,” Jordan said. “Baby Ernie.”
“Oh,” Zoe said. “Congratulations!”
“Come!” Jordan said. “Come see him!”
Zoe had to admit, it was one of the most joyful moments she had ever experienced on Nantucket. Ava lay in bed, looking as if she had been through a war: she was pale, and there were bruised circles under her eyes, and her hair was matted to her head like a wet mop. But she was triumphant, she was almost forty years old and she had fucking done it, delivered a baby whole and healthy. The baby was asleep in Jake’s arms, and Penny and Hobby started arguing about who would hold him next. Zoe kissed Ava’s clammy forehead, and tears filled her eyes. She didn’t have words; the moment was simply too big. She handed Ava her present, and Ava unwrapped the sweet pink outfit and they both burst out laughing, and the tears found their release. Then Jordan walked in carrying a bottle of champagne. A moment later Al, Lynne, and Demeter Castle arrived, and Ava showed them the pink outfit, and there was more laughter. Penny scooted down the hall with a handful of dollar bills to get sodas from the vending machine, and Jordan popped the champagne, and Zoe snapped pictures of Hobby, who at age thirteen was already six foot one, holding tiny baby Ernie. Lynne Castle hugged Ava, and Al handed Jordan a Cuban cigar that he’d gotten on his last business trip to Quebec. Ted Field poked his head in to shake hands with Jordan, then Al, and to make sure Ava was feeling okay. Jordan handed Zoe a paper cup of champagne, and Zoe toasted him and looked into his blue eyes, and she felt a moment of pure happiness for these people who had gotten their heart’s desire.
Then Zoe accepted the sweet package that was Ernest Price Randolph, and she quietly introduced herself to him. “I’m Zoe,” she said. “I’m your friend.” Then she named the other people in the room: “Your mommy, your daddy, your big brother, Jake. Dr. Field, who delivered you. And over there are my babies, Penny and Hobby. And that’s Al Castle and Lynne Castle and Demeter. Look how lucky you are, baby Ernie,” she whispered. She raised him up and kissed his impossibly soft cheek. “Look at all the people who love you already.”
Two months later, at six o’clock in the morning on Monday, March 31, Zoe got a dramatically different call from Lynne Castle. She could barely make sense of what Lynne was trying to tell her: Ava had gone into the nursery to check on the baby, and…
“What?” Zoe whispered. She had heard what Lynne was saying-“stopped breathing,” “SIDS,” “died in his crib”-but her mind wouldn’t allow it. She had seen Ava and Ernie only a few days before, at the post office. Ava had been standing in line, waiting to pick up yet more baby gifts sent from Australia, and Zoe had offered to hold Ernie while she carried the presents out to her car. Ernie was more alert than the last time Zoe had seen him. He could focus his eyes, which were the deep, concentrated color that Zoe could think of only as Jordan blue. She had bounced him a little; the warm, curved weight of his head fit in her hand like a ball. She had kissed him repeatedly, and he had gurgled, then smiled. Zoe was in love with her twins, she positively adored them, but they were hitting the hard, bumpy road of adolescence. Penny had just gotten her first period and was prone to unpredictable mood swings; Hobby’s feet stank up the whole house. Zoe held Ernie and thought, I want another little one just like this.
Ernie, baby Ernie, had stopped breathing. Ava had gone into the nursery and picked him up and he had been as cold and inert as a doll. He was dead.
Poor Ava, oh poor Ava!
At the graveside funeral, Ava wore a black dress. Beneath the dress, her breasts had been bound with Ace bandages to keep her milk from coming in. The other children-Jake and Hobby and Penny and Demeter-released white balloons into the sky, a gesture that Lynne had dreamed up as a way to help them grapple with this unexpected death: little Ernie’s soul had been released from his body and carried off by the wind, she told them.
Zoe thought this was a gross oversimplification with a little bit of mystical nonsense thrown in, but she sobbed along with everyone else when the balloons were released. She, along with everyone else, waved good-bye.
Lynne Castle took charge of organizing a meal dropoff for the Randolph family, but Zoe disregarded the schedule and took something of her own over every single day: white chicken chili for Jordan, a delicate vegetable terrine for Ava, pizza pot pie for Jake. She made blueberry muffins and squeezed pitchers of fresh orange juice. She baked loaves of sourdough bread. She made pan after pan of slumped brownies. Sometimes she handed these dishes to Jordan, who always thanked her with a depleted smile. At other times Jordan’s car was gone, which meant Ava was alone inside, but Zoe never mustered the courage to knock; she just left the dishes on the front porch.
If she wants to talk, Zoe told herself, she’ll call me.
But Ava never called, and what at first passed for a respectful silence turned into a gully, then a canyon.
Months passed, summer arrived. The Randolph family didn’t make it to the beach even once. Zoe called Jordan at the newspaper and begged him to let her take Jake to the beach with the twins. Just one Sunday? Just for a few hours?
Jordan breathed heavily into the phone. “My hands are tied,” he said. “Ava wants to keep him home.”
“For how long?” Zoe asked. “Jesus Christ, Jordan, the kid is thirteen years old. He needs to be outside, with his friends.”
“Zoe,” Jordan said. “Please.”
Zoe put a handwritten note in the mail to Ava: I realize how badly you must be hurting. Please know I’m here anytime you want to talk.
Zoe heard nothing back. It began to feel as if they’d never been friends at all. Zoe attended all the usual summer parties alone, or with the Castles, and she fielded inquiries about how Ava was doing. At first she wasn’t sure what to say. Then she came up with a few lines and repeated them: “She and Jordan are circling the wagons, trying to get through this. Thanks for asking.” What she might just as well have said was, “Why are you asking me? I have no idea.”
Zoe broached the topic with Lynne Castle.
“Ava has gone completely silent,” Zoe said. “She’s shut me out.”
Lynne said, “I make overtures, but I don’t get very far.”
Zoe wanted to know what that meant, exactly. Did Ava talk to Lynne? Did she answer the phone when Lynne called?
“Jordan and Jake have been over for dinner a few times,” Lynne said.
Zoe’s thoughts fluttered like a flock of startled birds. “They’ve been over for dinner?” she repeated.
Lynne pursed her lips, as though tasting something sour. “I think Ava is being especially hard on Jordan. Because of, you know…”
“Because of what?” Zoe asked.
Lynne sighed. “It’s just so sad,” she said.
As the holidays approached, Zoe took on more private catering jobs. She spent time with the twins, cheering at Hobby’s football games, delivering Penny to singing lessons.
She thought, Of course Lynne has had Jordan and Jake to dinner, she can ask them to dinner because she’s married to Al; they’re a respectable family. But if I asked Jordan and Jake to dinner, it would look like… well, it would look like something else.