The Midwife's Confession. Diane Chamberlain

any help with the sewing machine,” I asked.

      “I don’t have time to do it now, Mom,” she said. “I’m studying.”

      “Well, whenever.” I sat down on the edge of her bed, longing for a real conversation with her. Longing for contact. Twitter rested his big head on my knee and I ran my hand over his back. “Noelle would be so pleased you’re helping with the babies program.”

      “Uh-huh.” She lifted her backpack from the floor and dug around inside it, pulling out a notebook. She looked everywhere in the room except at me. I hated the strain I felt between us. Just hated it.

      I smiled at her mug. “I don’t know how you can drink coffee this late in the day,” I said.

      She flipped open her notebook with an exasperated sigh. “You say that every single time you see me with a cup of coffee in the afternoon,” she said.

      Did I? “It reminds me of your dad,” I said. “You two were so much alike that way.”

      “Speaking of Dad,” she said, now looking directly at me, “how was your big date with Ian?”

      I frowned, surprised by the question. Sarcasm wasn’t her style at all, and she’d caught me off guard. “It was not a date, Grace,” I said.

      She looked out the window, her cheeks reddening, and I thought she’d blurted out the question before she’d been able to stop herself. “I think of Daddy being dead while you’re out having fun,” she said. “I don’t know how you can do that to him.”

      “It wasn’t a date,” I said again. “Not the way you’re implying, anyway. It’ll be a long time before I’m interested in a man other than Daddy, but I need to be able to go out to dinner or a movie with a friend sometimes, the way you go out with Jenny. We both need to get out.” I leaned forward and lowered my head, trying to get her to look at me again. “Can you understand that?” I asked.

      “It’s fine.” She didn’t sound convincing.

      “I know you miss Cleve,” I said, straightening up again.

      She looked down at her notebook and I had the feeling I’d touched an exposed nerve.

      “It’s no big deal,” she said.

      I’d never been certain how far things had gone between Grace and Cleve. Had they had sex? They’d gone out together for eight months and although I couldn’t picture it—I didn’t want to picture it—I suppose they had. The one thing I knew for sure was that she’d loved him. Even now, his pictures dotted her dresser and desk and the bulletin board behind the computer. She still loved him. I wished I could make the hurt go away.

      “I remember what it was like when your father and I were separated,” I said.

      “Separated? What are you talking about?”

      “Oh, I don’t mean while we were married,” I said. “I mean when he went away to college while I was still in high school.”

      “Well, the big difference with you and Daddy being separated was that Daddy didn’t break up with you before he left.” She looked surprised at herself for giving me a glimpse into her emotions. I needed to capitalize on that glimpse.

      “I know, honey,” I said. “I know how hard it must be.”

      “No, you don’t,” she muttered.

      “I know it’s different than it was with your dad and me, but the way I dealt with being apart from him was to get busy. Get involved with things. Take action.” I leaned toward her. “I wish you could see how that would help you, Grace.”

      “I am totally involved with things!” she snapped. “I’m working at the Animal House and going to school and now doing the stupid babies program. What more do you want?”

      “All that’s good,” I said, “but it’s all work and no play, isn’t it? You could branch out a little, honey. I know you love Jenny, but you should do things with other friends, too. When your dad and I were apart, I made friends with Emerson and Noelle. I got into my studies and acted in plays.”

      “Yeah, you were Miss Perfect, like always,” she said.

      “I’m not saying that,” I said. “I’m just trying to tell you some possible ways to cope.” I twisted my wedding ring on my finger. I was doing that a lot lately whenever I felt tense. Whenever I felt as though I needed Sam by my side.

      “You just stay busy so you don’t have to think about anything,” Grace said. “So you can forget about how messed up your life has gotten.”

      “Oh, Grace.” I shook my head. “It has nothing to do with that. Being involved in things is just healthy.” I stopped twisting my ring and laid my hands flat on my thighs. “You know,” I said, “we haven’t talked about this in a while, but I wish you’d seriously consider joining the drama club. You don’t have to act. You’re such a good writer. You could write plays. I know you’re afraid it would seem weird, since I’m the—”

      “You don’t know me at all!” She slapped her notebook down on her desk. “I’m not you, okay? I don’t deal with stuff the same way you do.”

      “No. I know you don’t.” I slumped a little on her bed. I was failing with her again. “And that’s okay. It was just a thought.”

      “I really need to study.” She lifted her biology book an inch or two off her lap to show me how I was interrupting her.

      “All right.” I pushed myself off her bed, walked over to her chair and leaned down to give her a hug. She was stiff as a board beneath my arms. “I’ll call you when dinner’s ready,” I said.

      I left her room, shutting her door behind me, and stood in the hallway feeling frustrated and a little lost. This chilly girl who treated me with such impatience and disdain was not the Grace I’d known and loved for sixteen years. This was a girl who was angry with me. I wasn’t sure exactly why. For going back to work only two weeks after Sam died? She’d been horrified by that, but I’d needed to stay as busy as possible to survive. Was she still angry I’d gotten rid of Sam’s things? Did she think I was betraying him by seeing Ian?

      One thing I knew for certain was that, rightly or wrongly, she blamed me for Sam’s death.

      There were moments when I even blamed myself.

      12

       Emerson

      It was Friday afternoon, and I thought I would finally have some time to myself to look through the box of Noelle’s cards and letters. Jenny was still at school, Ted was showing a property to a client and I’d closed up the café after the lunch crowd. People were telling me I should start serving dinner, but lunch and breakfast were all I could manage. Right now I could hardly keep up with that.

      When I got home, I was surprised to find Jenny and Grace in the bonus room above the garage, sorting through the stuff for the babies program.

      “What are you two doing home?” I asked, surveying the neat piles they were making of clothing and blankets.

      “Half day today,” Jenny said. She gave me a hug. Jenny was a hugger and always had been. She got it from me. She sure didn’t get it from Ted.

      “How are you doing, Grace?” I asked, picking up a tiny yellow hand-knit sweater from one of the piles. “God, this stuff is cute.”

      “I’m good,” Grace said. “I totally suck at sewing, though.” She held one of the little blankets toward me and I had to laugh at the puckered hem. “The rest I did are better,” she said. “It was the tension on the machine. Mom had to fix it for me.”

      I could picture Grace sewing. Maybe even enjoying it. She’d always loved things she could do alone. Writing. Reading. Drawing.

      “Listen,”