Ocracoke 1996
Part of my insomnia had to do with my aunt. When I got home, she was
still on the couch, the same book open in her lap, but when she lifted her eyes in my direction, one look was all it took. No doubt I was radiating moonbeams, because her eyebrows twitched slightly, and I finally heard her sigh. It was an I knew this was going to happen kind of sigh, if you know what I mean.
“How was it?” she asked, underplaying the obvious. Not for the first time, I found myself wondering how someone who spent decades squirreled away in a convent could be so worldly.
“It was fun.” I shrugged, trying to play it cool, even though we both knew it was pointless. “We had dinner and went to the beach. He built a kite with Christmas lights on it, but you probably already knew that. Thanks again for letting me go.”
“I’m not sure there was anything I could have done to stop it.” “You could have said no.”
“Hmm” was all she said, and I suddenly understood that there’d been an inevitability to Bryce and me all along. As I stood before my aunt, I inexplicably found myself back on the beach again with Bryce in my arms. I felt an undeniable surge of heat up my neck and began to remove my jacket in the hope she wouldn’t notice.
“Don’t forget that we have church in the morning.”
“I remember,” I confirmed. I stole a peek at her as I walked past her toward my bedroom, noticing that she’d returned to reading her book.
“Good night, Aunt Linda.” “Good night, Maggie.”
* * *
Lying in bed with Maggie-bear, I was too wired to sleep. I kept replaying the evening and thinking about the way Bryce had gazed at me over dinner or how his dark eyes had caught the firelight. Mostly I remembered the taste of his lips, only to realize that I was smiling in the darkness like a crazy person. And yet, as the hours ticked by, my giddiness gradually gave way to confusion, which also kept me awake. While I knew deep down that Bryce loved me, it still made no sense. Didn’t he know how extraordinary he was? Had he forgotten I was pregnant? He could have any girl he wanted, while I was nothing but ordinary in all the ways that mattered and a definite screwup in one of the biggest ways of all. I wondered if his feelings for me had more to do with simple proximity than with anything particularly unique and wonderful about me. I fretted that I wasn’t smart or pretty enough, and even momentarily questioned whether I’d made the whole thing up. And while I tossed and turned, it dawned on me that love was the most powerful emotion of all, because it made you vulnerable to the possibility of losing everything that really mattered.
Despite the emotional whiplash, or maybe because of it, exhaustion finally won out. In the morning, I woke to a stranger in the mirror. There were bags under my eyes, the skin on my face felt like it was sagging, and my hair seemed stringier than usual. A shower and makeup allowed me to be somewhat presentable before I emerged from my room. My aunt, because she seemed to know me better than I knew myself, made pancakes for breakfast and avoided any doublespeak. Instead, she casually steered the conversation to the date itself and I walked her through most of it, leaving out only the important things, although my enraptured expression probably made the remainder unnecessary.
But the easy conversation was exactly what I needed to feel better, and the trepidation I’d experienced overnight gave way to a warm sense of contentment. On the ferry, as we sat upstairs at the table with Gwen, I gazed out the window and watched the water, lost again in the memories of the previous evening. I thought about Bryce while I was at church and again when we picked up supplies; at one of the garage sales, I found a kite for sale and wondered if it would fly if I added Christmas lights to it. The only time I didn’t think about him was when it came time to shop for larger bras; it was all I could do to hide my embarrassment, especially when the owner of the shop—a stern-looking brunette with flashing black eyes—gave me the once-over, pausing at my stomach, while leading me to the fitting room.
When we finally got back to the house, the lack of sleep had caught up to me. Even though it was already dark, I took a quick catnap and woke just as dinner was about to be served. After eating and cleaning up the kitchen, I went back to bed, still feeling like a zombie. I closed my eyes, wondering how Bryce had spent his day, and whether being in love would change things between us. But mostly I thought about kissing him again, and right before I finally dozed off, I realized that for me, the moment couldn’t come soon enough.
* * *
The dreamy feeling persisted when I awoke; in fact, it permeated every waking hour for the next week and a half, even when I had my next sit- down with Gwen concerning my pregnancy. Bryce loved me and I loved him, and my world pretty much revolved around that thrilling idea, no matter what the two of us were doing.
Not that our day-to-day routines changed much. Bryce was nothing if not responsible. He still came over to tutor me with Daisy in tow, and he did his best to keep me focused even when I sometimes squeezed his knee before giggling at his suddenly flustered expression. Despite my frequent attempts at flirting when I was supposed to be working, I nonetheless continued to forge ahead in my studies. On the exams, I extended my pretty-darn-good streak, even though Bryce remained disappointed in his abilities as a tutor. My photography lessons didn’t change that much, either, except that he also began teaching me how to take indoor shots using a flash and other lighting, as well as the occasional nighttime shot. Those we usually did at his house, because the equipment was right there. For evening shots of the star-filled sky, we used a tripod and a remote, since the camera had to be absolutely stable. Those shots required a super-slow shutter speed
—sometimes as long as thirty seconds—and on a particularly clear night when there was no moon in the sky, we caught part of the Milky Way, which looked like a glowing cloud in a darkened sky illuminated by fireflies.
We also continued to eat dinner together three or four times a week. Half of those were with my aunt, the other half with his family, often including his grandparents. His dad had left town on the Monday after our date on a two-month consulting gig. Bryce didn’t know exactly where he’d gone or what he’d be doing, except that it was for the DOD, but he didn’t seem particularly interested; he just missed having him around.
Really, about the only thing that changed for Bryce and me was the times when we were taking a break from my studies or when we set the camera aside. In those moments, we talked more deeply about our families and friends, even recent events in the news, though Bryce had to carry those latter conversations. With no television or newspaper, I was pretty clueless about the state of the world—or the U.S., or Seattle, or even North Carolina
—and honestly didn’t care all that much. But I liked hearing him talk and he occasionally posed serious questions about serious issues. After pretending to think about it, I’d say something like “That’s difficult to answer. What do you think?” and he’d start explaining his thoughts on the matter. I suppose it was also possible I learned something, but lost in my feelings for him, I didn’t remember much. Every now and then, I’d again find myself wondering what he saw in me and I’d feel a sudden pang of insecurity, but as though reading my mind, he would reach for my hand, and the feeling would pass.
We also kissed a lot. Never when my aunt or his family could see us, but pretty much every other moment was up for grabs. I’d be writing an essay and take a second to collect my thoughts, then notice the way he was watching me, and I’d lean over to kiss him. Or after examining one of the photographs from the file box, Bryce would lean in and kiss me. We kissed on the porch at the end of an evening or as soon as he stepped into my aunt’s house to tutor me. We kissed at the beach and in town, near his house and outside my aunt’s, which sometimes meant ducking behind the dune or around the corner. Sometimes he’d wrap a strand of my hair around his finger; other times, he’d simply hold me. But always, he’d tell me again that he loved me, and every single time it happened, my heart would start beating funny in my chest, and I’d feel as though my life was as perfect as it would ever be.
* * *
In early March, I had to see Dr. Huge Hands again. It was to be my last appointment with him before the delivery, since Gwen would continue to supervise my care for the rest of the term. Right on schedule, I’d begun having the occasional Braxton Hicks contraction, and when I told the doctor I wasn’t a fan, he reminded me that it was my body’s way of getting ready for labor. I did the ultrasound, avoided even a glimpse at the monitor, but let out an automatic breath of relief when the technician said that the baby (Sofia? Chloe?) was doing just fine. Although I was trying hard not to think
of the baby as a person who belonged to me, I still wanted to know she was going to be okay. The technician added that mama was doing fine, too— which meant me, but it was still weird to hear her say it—and when I finally sat down with the doctor, he went over a bunch of things that I might experience in the last stage of my pregnancy. I pretty much stopped listening once he said the word hemorrhoids—it had come up during the pregnant teen meeting at the Portland YMCA, but I’d forgotten all about it
—and by the time he finished, I was downright depressed. It took me a second to understand that he was asking me a question.
“Maggie? Did you hear me?”
“Sorry. I was still thinking about hemorrhoids,” I said. “I asked whether you were exercising,” he said.
“I walk when I’m taking pictures.”
“That’s great,” he said. “Just remember that exercise is good for both you and the baby, and it will shorten the time your body needs to recover after delivery. Nothing too intense, though. Light yoga, walking, things like that.”
“How about riding a bike?”
He brought a giant finger to his chin. “As long as it’s comfortable and doesn’t hurt, that’s probably okay for the next few weeks. After that, your center of gravity will begin to shift, making balance more difficult, and falling would be bad for both you and the baby.”
In other words, I’d be getting even fatter, which I knew was coming, but it was still as depressing as the idea of hemorrhoids. I did like the notion that my body might get back to normal faster, though, so the next time I saw Bryce, I asked if I could bike along with him on his morning runs.
“For sure,” he said. “It’ll be great to have company.”
The following morning, after waking up way too early, I put on my jacket and rode to Bryce’s house. He was stretching out front and he jogged toward me, Daisy at his side. As he leaned in to kiss me, I suddenly realized I hadn’t brushed my teeth, but I kissed him anyway and he didn’t seem to mind.
“You ready?”
I thought it would be easy since he was running and I was on a bike, but I was wrong. I did okay for the first couple of miles, but after that, my thighs started to burn. Even worse, Bryce kept trying to have a conversation, which wasn’t easy since I was huffing and puffing. Just when
I thought I couldn’t go any farther, he stopped near a gravel road that led toward the canals and said that he had to do sprints.
I rested on my bike seat, one foot on the ground, and watched as he sprinted away from me. Even Daisy had trouble keeping up, and I watched his image grow smaller in the distance. He stopped, rested for a short bit, then sprinted toward me again. He went up and back five times, and even though he was breathing a lot harder than I’d been and Daisy’s tongue almost reached her legs, he immediately started jogging again after he’d finished, this time in the direction of his house. I thought we were done, but I was wrong again. Bryce did push-ups, sit-ups, and then jumped up and down from the picnic table in his yard before finally doing multiple sets of pull-ups using a pipe hung beneath his house, his muscles flexing against his shirt. Daisy, meanwhile, lay in place, panting. When I checked my watch after he’d finished, he’d been going nonstop for almost ninety minutes. Despite the cool morning air, his face was shiny with sweat and there were wet circles on his T-shirt as he approached.
“You do this every morning?”
“Six days a week,” he said. “But I vary it. Sometimes the run is shorter and I do more sprints or whatever. I want to be ready for West Point.”
“So every time you arrive to tutor me, you’ve already done all of this?” “Pretty much.”
“I’m impressed,” I said, and not just because I’d enjoyed the sight of his muscles. It was impressive, and it made me wish that I could be more like him.
* * *
Despite the addition of regular morning exercise, the pounds kept coming and my tummy kept growing. Gwen continually reminded me that was normal—she began dropping by the house regularly to check my blood pressure and listen to the baby with a stethoscope—but it still didn’t make me feel better. By the middle of March, I was up twenty-two pounds. By the end of the month, I was up twenty-four, and it was pretty much impossible to hide the bulge no matter how baggy the sweatshirt. I began to resemble a character from a Dr. Seuss book: small head and skinny legs with a bulging torso, but without the cute look of Cindy-Lou Who.
Not that Bryce seemed to mind. We still kissed, he still held my hand, and he always told me I was beautiful, but as the month wore on, I began to feel pregnant almost all the time. I had to balance just right when I sat down
to keep from plopping into the seat, and getting up from the sofa required momentary planning and concentration. I still went to the bathroom practically every hour, and once, when I sneezed on the ferry, my bladder actually seemed to spit, which was absolutely mortifying and left me feeling wet and gross until we got back to Ocracoke. I felt the baby moving a lot more, especially whenever I lay down—I could also watch it moving, which was really trippy—and I had to start sleeping on my back, which wasn’t comfortable at all. My Braxton Hicks contractions were coming more regularly, and like Dr. Huge Hands, Gwen said it was a good thing. I, on the other hand, still thought it was a bad thing because my whole stomach tightened and I felt all crampy, but Gwen ignored my complaint. About the only terrible things that hadn’t happened were hemorrhoids or a sudden starburst of acne on my face. I still had the occasional extra pimple or two, but my makeup skills kept it from being all that noticeable and Bryce never said a word about it.
I also did pretty well on my midterms, not that either of my parents seemed all that impressed. My aunt, though, was pleased, and it was around that time that I began to notice that she kept her own counsel when it came to my relationship with Bryce. When I’d mentioned that I was going to start exercising in the mornings, all she’d said was “Please be careful.” On those nights Bryce stayed for dinner, she and he chatted as amiably as ever. If I told her that I would be taking photographs on Saturday, she would simply ask what time I thought I would be back, so she would know what time to have dinner ready. At night, when it was just Aunt Linda and me, we talked about my parents or Gwen or what was going on with my studies or at the shop before she’d pick up a novel while I perused books on photography. And yet, I couldn’t shake the sense that something had grown up between us, some kind of distance.
Early on, I hadn’t minded it so much. The fact that my aunt and I rarely spoke about Bryce made the relationship feel a little secretive, vaguely illicit and therefore more exciting. And while not encouraging, Aunt Linda at least seemed accepting of the idea that her niece was in love with a young man who met her approval. At night, when it was time for me to walk Bryce to the door, more often than not, she would rise from her spot on the sofa and head to the kitchen, giving us a bit of privacy, enough for a quick kiss goodbye. I think she intuitively knew that Bryce and I wouldn’t go overboard. We hadn’t even gone on an official second date; really, since we
saw each other pretty much all day every day, there wasn’t a reason to. Nor had we ever considered sneaking out at night to see each other or going somewhere without telling my aunt in advance. With my body beginning to shape-shift, s*x was absolutely the last thing on my mind.
And yet, after a while, the distance began to bother me. Aunt Linda was the first person I’d known who was completely on my side. She accepted me for who I was, faults and all, and I wanted to think I could talk to her about anything. It all sort of came to a head as we were sitting in the living room near the end of March. We’d had dinner, Bryce had gone home, and it was coming up on the time she usually went to bed. I cleared my throat awkwardly, and my aunt glanced up from her book.
“I’m glad you let me live here,” I said. “I don’t know if I’ve told you enough how thankful I am.”
She frowned. “What brought that on?”
“I don’t know. I guess I’ve been so busy lately that we haven’t had the chance to be alone so I could tell you how much I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”
Her expression softened and she set the book aside. “You’re welcome. You’re family, of course, and that’s the reason I was initially willing to help. But once you got here, I began to realize how much I enjoyed having you around. I never had children of my own, and in some ways, I feel like you’ve become like the daughter I never had. I know it’s not my place to say such things, but I’ve learned that it’s okay at my age to pretend every once in a while.”
I moved my hand over the bulge of my stomach, thinking of everything I’d put her through. “I was a pretty terrible guest in the beginning.”
“You were fine.”
“I was moody and messy and zero fun to be around.”
“You were scared,” she said. “I knew that. Frankly, I was frightened, too.”
That, I hadn’t expected. “Why?”
“I worried that I wouldn’t be what you needed. And if that happened, I worried that you might have to go back to Seattle. Like your parents, I just wanted what was best for you.”
I fiddled with a few strands of my hair. “I still don’t know what I’m going to say to my friends when I get back. For all I know, some people
already suspect the truth and they’re talking about me, or they’ll spread rumors that I was in rehab or something.”
Her expression remained calm. “A lot of the girls I worked with at the convent were afraid of the same thing. And the reality is, those things might happen, and it’s terrible when they do. And yet, you might be surprised. People tend to focus on their own lives, not someone else’s. As soon as you’re back, doing normal things with your friends, they’ll forget the fact that you were gone for a while.”
“Do you think so?”
“Every year, when school finishes, kids scatter to all sorts of different places all summer long, and while they might see some friends, they don’t see others. But as soon as they’re all back together, it’s like they were never apart.”
Though it was true, I also knew some who loved nothing better than juicy gossip, people who made themselves feel better by putting others down. I turned toward the window, noting the darkness beyond the glass, and wondered again why she hadn’t seemed to want to talk about my feelings for Bryce and their implications. In the end, I just came out with it.
“I’m in love with Bryce,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “I know. I see the way you look at him.”
“He’s in love with me, too.”
“I know. I see the way he looks at you.” “Do you think I’m too young to be in love?”
“That’s not for me to say. Do you think you’re too young?”
I suppose I should have expected her to turn the question around on me. “Part of me knows I love him, but there’s this other voice in my head whispering that I can’t possibly know, since I’ve never been in love before.” “First love is different for everyone. But I think people know it when
they feel it.”
“Have you ever been in love?” When she nodded, I was pretty certain she was referring to Gwen, but she didn’t elaborate so I went on. “How do you know for sure it’s love?”
For the first time, she laughed, not at me, but almost for herself. “Poets and musicians and writers and even scientists have been trying to answer that question since Adam and Eve. And keep in mind that for a long time, I was a nun. But if you’re asking me my opinion—and I lean toward the
practical, less romantic side—I think it comes down to the past, the present, and the future.”
“I’m not sure what you mean,” I said, tilting my head.
“What attracted you to the other person in the past, how did that person treat you in the past, how compatible were you in the past? It’s the same questions in the present, except that a physical longing for the other person is added. The desire to touch and hold and kiss. And if all of the answers make you feel like you never want to be with anyone else, then it’s probably love.”
“My parents are going to be furious when they find out.” “Are you going to tell them?”
I almost answered on instinct, but when I noticed my aunt had raised her eyebrow, my words caught in my throat. Was I actually going to tell them? Until that moment, I’d just assumed that I would, but even if I did, what did that mean for Bryce and me? In reality? Would we even be able to see each other? In the flurry of those thoughts, I remembered my aunt saying that love came down to the past, present, and…
“What does the future have to do with love?” I asked.
As soon as I asked, I realized that I already knew the answer. My aunt, however, kept her tone almost light.
“Can you see yourself being with the person in the future, for all the reasons you love them now, through all the inevitable challenges that will come to pass?”
“Oh” was all I could muster.
Aunt Linda absently tugged at her ear. “Have you ever heard of Sister Thérèse of Lisieux?”
“I can’t say that I have.”
“She was a French nun who lived in the 1800s. She was very holy, one of my heroes, really, and she probably wouldn’t have appreciated my reference about love also coming down to the future. She said, ‘When one loves, one does not calculate.’ She was a lot wiser than I can ever hope to be.”
My aunt Linda really was the best. But despite her comforting words that night, I was troubled and gripped Maggie-bear hard. It was a long time before I fell asleep.
* * *
As a highly skilled procrastinator—which I learned in school, as a result of being required to do boring school stuff—I managed not to think about the conversation with my aunt just yet. Instead, when thoughts of leaving Ocracoke and Bryce surfaced, I tried to remind myself of the when one loves, one does not calculate thing, and usually it worked. In all fairness, my ability to avoid thinking about the subject might have had to do with the fact that Bryce was so irresistibly good-looking and it was pretty easy for me to get lost in the moment.
Whenever Bryce and I were together, my brain kept me in gaga mode, probably because we continued to sneak kisses whenever possible. But in the evenings when I was alone in my room, I could practically hear the clock ticking toward my departure, especially whenever the baby moved. The reckoning was definitely coming, whether I wanted it or not.
The beginning of April found us taking photographs of the lighthouse, where I watched as Bryce changed lenses on the camera under a rainbow sky. Daisy trotted here and there, sniffing the ground and occasionally wandering over to check on him. The weather had warmed and Bryce was wearing a T-shirt. I caught myself staring at the starkly defined muscles in his arms as though they were a hypnotist’s pendulum. I was almost thirty- five weeks pregnant, and I’d had to put the brakes on bicycle riding with Bryce in the mornings, figuratively speaking anyway. I was also becoming more self-conscious about being seen in public. I didn’t want people on the island to assume that Bryce had knocked me up; Ocracoke was, after all, his home.
“Hey, Bryce?” I finally asked. “Yes?”
“You know I have to go back to Seattle, right? Once I deliver the baby?”
Lifting his eyes from the camera, he gawked at me as though I were wearing a snow cone as a hat. “Really? You’re pregnant and leaving?”
“I’m being serious,” I said.
He lowered the camera. “Yeah,” he said. “I know.”
“Have you ever thought about what that might mean for us?”
“I’ve thought about it. But can I ask you a question?” When I indicated he could, he went on. “Do you love me?”
“Of course I do,” I said.
“Then we’ll find a way to make it work.”
“I’ll be three thousand miles away. I won’t be able to see you.”
“We can talk on the phone…”
“Long-distance calls are expensive. And even if I can figure out a way to pay for them myself, I’m not sure how often my parents will even let me call. And you’re going to be busy.”
“Then we’ll write to each other, okay?” For the first time, I heard anxiety creeping into his voice. “We’re not the first couple in history that had to figure out the long-distance thing, my parents included. My dad was deployed overseas for months at a time, twice for almost a year. And he travels all the time now.”
But they were married and had children together. “You’re going off to college while I still have two years of high school left.”
“So?”
You might meet someone better. She’ll be smarter and prettier and the two of you will have more in common than we do. I heard the voices in my head but said nothing, and Bryce approached. He touched my cheek, tracing it gently, then leaned in to kiss me, the feeling as light as the air itself. He held me then, neither of us saying anything until I finally heard him sigh.
“I’m not going to lose you,” he whispered, and while I closed my eyes and wanted to believe him, I still wasn’t sure how it would be possible.
* * *
In the days that followed, it seemed like both of us were trying to pretend that the conversation had never happened. And for the first time, there were moments when we were awkward in each other’s presence. I would catch him staring off into the distance and when I asked what he was thinking about, he’d shake his head and force a quick smile, or I’d cross my arms and suddenly sigh and realize that he knew exactly what I was thinking.
Though we didn’t talk, our need to touch became even more pronounced. He reached for my hand more frequently and I moved in for a hug whenever fears of the future intruded. When we kissed, his arms held me even tighter, as though clinging to an impossible hope.
We stayed in more due to the advanced state of my pregnancy. There were no more bike rides and instead of taking photos, I studied the ones in the file box. Even though it was probably safe, I nonetheless stayed out of the darkroom.
Just as I’d done throughout March, I worked extra hard on my readings and assignments, mainly as a distraction from the inevitable. I wrote an
analysis of Romeo and Juliet, which wouldn’t have been possible without Bryce and was also my last big paper of the year in any class. As I’d read the play, I’d wondered at times whether I was even reading English; he’d had to translate virtually every passage. But by contrast, when I played around with Photoshop, I trusted my instincts and continued to surprise both Bryce and his mom.
Still, Daisy seemed to sense the cloud hanging over Bryce and me; she frequently nuzzled one of my hands while Bryce held the other. One Thursday after dinner, I walked Bryce to the porch while my aunt simultaneously found a reason to check something in the kitchen. Daisy followed us out and sat beside me, gazing up at Bryce as he kissed me. I felt his tongue meet my own, and afterward, he leaned his forehead gently against mine while we held each other.
“What are you doing Saturday?” he finally asked.
I assumed he was asking me to go on another date. “Saturday night, you mean?”
“No,” he said with a shake of his head. “During the day. I have to bring Daisy to Goldsboro. I know you’ve been trying to keep a low profile, but I was hoping you’d come with me. I don’t want to be alone on the drive back and my mom has to stay with the twins. Otherwise they might accidentally blow up the house.”
Though I’d known it was coming, the idea that Daisy was leaving made a lump form in my throat. I automatically reached for her, my fingers finding her ears.
“Yeah…Okay.”
“Do you need to ask your aunt? Since it’s the day before Easter?”
“I’m sure she’ll let me go. I’ll talk to her later and if anything changes, I’ll let you know.”
His lips were pursed as he nodded. I stared down at Daisy, feeling my eyes well with tears.
“I’m going to miss her.”
Daisy whined at the sound of my voice. When I looked at Bryce, I realized his eyes were glistening as well.
* * *
On Saturday, we caught the early ferry from Ocracoke and made the long drive from the coast to Goldsboro, an hour past New Bern. Daisy rode in the front of the truck, sandwiched between us on the seat, both of us
running our fingers through her fur. Content to soak up the affection, she barely moved at all.
Eventually, we pulled into a Wal-Mart parking lot, and Bryce spotted the people he’d come to meet. They were standing near a pickup truck with a plastic kennel in the bed. Bryce angled the truck toward them, slowing gradually. Daisy sat up to see what was happening and stared through the windshield, excited about a new adventure but clueless as to what was really happening.
Because the lot was crowded with Saturday shoppers, Bryce hooked the leash to Daisy’s collar before opening the door. He got out first and Daisy jumped down, her nose going to the ground so she could sniff her new surroundings. Meanwhile, I crawled down from my side, which was becoming a serious challenge by that point, and I joined Bryce. He offered me the leash.
“Can you hold this for a minute? I need to get her paperwork from the truck.”
“Of course.”
I bent lower, petting Daisy again. By then, the visitors had started toward us, both coming across as far more relaxed than I felt. One was a woman in her forties who wore her long red hair in a ponytail; the man appeared to be about ten years older and was dressed in a polo and chinos. Their familiar demeanor made it clear they knew Bryce well.
Bryce shook both their hands before handing over the folder. They introduced themselves to me as Jess and Toby, and I said hello. I watched their eyes flash momentarily to my tummy and I crossed my arms, more self-conscious than usual. They were kind enough not to stare, and after a minute of small talk about the drive and what he’d been up to lately, Bryce began to fill them in on Daisy’s training. Even so, I knew they were trying to figure out whether Bryce was the father of the baby, and I focused on Daisy again. I barely paid attention to the conversation. When Daisy licked my fingers, I knew I’d never see her again and felt tears beginning to form.
Jess and Toby clearly knew the drill and that prolonging the goodbye would only make things harder for Bryce. They brought the conversation to a close and Bryce squatted lower. He took Daisy’s face in his hands, the two of them staring at each other.
“You’re the best dog I’ve ever had,” he said, his voice choking slightly. “I know you’re going to make me proud and that your new owner is going
to love you as much as I do.”
Daisy seemed to absorb every word, and when Bryce kissed the top of her head, her eyes closed. He handed the leash to Toby and turned away, his expression grim, walking toward the truck without another word. I, too, kissed Daisy one last time and followed. Peeking over my shoulder, I saw Daisy sitting patiently, watching Bryce. Her head was tilted to the side as though she was wondering where he was going, a sight that nearly broke my heart. Bryce opened my door and helped me up into the truck, remaining silent.
He got in beside me. In the side mirror, I spotted Daisy again. She continued to watch us as Bryce started the engine. The truck moved forward slowly, passing one parked car after another. Bryce focused directly ahead of him, and we rolled through the parking lot, toward the exit.
There was a stop sign but no traffic. Bryce turned onto the access road, the trip back to Ocracoke already underway. I peered over my shoulder one last time. Daisy remained seated, her head still tilted, no doubt watching the truck grow smaller in the distance. I wondered if she was confused or frightened or sad, but she was too far away to tell. I watched Toby finally tug the leash, and Daisy followed slowly to the rear of his truck. He lowered the tailgate and Daisy hopped up; then we passed another building, blocking them entirely from view, and suddenly she was gone. Forever.
Bryce remained quiet. I knew he was hurting and knew how much he’d miss the dog he’d raised since she was a puppy. I swiped at my tears, unsure what to say. To voice the obvious meant little when the wound was so fresh. Up ahead was the on-ramp for the highway, but Bryce began to slow the truck. For an instant, I thought he was going to return to the parking lot, so he could really say goodbye to Daisy. But he didn’t. He turned the truck into a gas station, coming to a stop near the edge of the property, where he
shut off the ignition.
After swallowing hard, he lowered his face into his hands. His shoulders began to quake and when I heard the sound of him crying, it was impossible to keep my own tears in check. I sobbed and he sobbed and though we were together, we were alone in our sadness, both of us already missing our beloved Daisy.
* * *
When we reached Ocracoke, Bryce dropped me off at my aunt’s. I knew he wanted to be alone and I was exhausted and needed a nap. When I woke,
Aunt Linda made grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup. While I sat, I involuntarily kept reaching for Daisy under the table.
“Would you like to go to church tomorrow?” my aunt asked. “I know it’s Easter, but if you’d rather stay home, I understand.”
“I’ll be okay.”
“I know you will. I was asking for another reason.”
Because you’re clearly looking pregnant, she meant.
“I’d like to go tomorrow, but after that, I think I’ll take a break.”
“Okay, honey,” she said. “Starting next Sunday, Gwen will be around if you need anything.”
“She won’t go to church, either?”
“It’s probably not a good idea. She needs to be here, just in case.”
In case you go into labor, she meant, and when I reached for my sandwich, I was struck by yet more changes, signaling that my time here was coming to a close, more quickly than I wanted.
* * *
On Monday, two days later, my first thought upon waking was that I only had about a month to go. Leaving Daisy behind had made the reality of saying goodbye that much more concrete somehow, not just for me but for Bryce, too. He was subdued during our tutoring session, and afterward, instead of photography, he suggested that we start driving lessons. He mentioned he’d spoken to both my aunt and his mom about it, and they’d both approved.
I knew that he’d grown used to having Daisy with us during our shoots, and that he wanted to do something to take his mind off it. After I agreed, he drove to the road that led to the far end of the island and we traded places. It wasn’t until I was behind the wheel that I realized the truck had a standard, not automatic, transmission. Don’t ask me why I hadn’t noticed before, but it was probably because Bryce made driving seem effortless.
“I don’t think I’m going to be able to do this.”
“It’s good to learn with a standard, in case you ever have to drive one.” “That’s never going to happen.”
“How do you know?”
“Because most people are smart enough to have cars that do all the shifting automatically.”
“Can we get started now? If you’re finished complaining?”
It was the first time that day that Bryce sounded like his old self, and I felt my shoulders relax. I hadn’t realized how tense they’d been. I listened as he described the process of using the clutch.
I’d imagined it would be easy, but it wasn’t. Releasing the clutch in the same instant the accelerator caught was a lot harder than Bryce made it seem, and the first hour of my driving lesson was essentially a long series of quick, lurching bucks of the truck followed by the engine stalling. After my first series of attempts, Bryce had to fasten his seat belt.
Eventually, once I got the truck going, he had me accelerate, shifting into second and third gear before starting the process all over again.
By the middle of the week, I seldom stalled the truck any longer; by Thursday, I was good enough to test the village streets, which was far less dangerous for all involved than it sounded, since there was seldom any traffic there, either. I oversteered and understeered when making turns, which meant spending most of that day practicing my navigation. By Friday, fortunately, I was no longer embarrassing myself behind the wheel as long as I was careful in the turns, and at the end of the lesson, Bryce wrapped his arms around me and told me again that he loved me.
As he held me, my mind couldn’t help flashing to the fact that the baby was due in twenty-seven days.
* * *
I didn’t see Bryce that Saturday, as he’d let me know after I’d finished my driving lesson the day before that because his father was still out of town, he would be spending the weekend fishing with his grandfather. Instead, I went to the shop and spent some time alphabetizing the books and arranging the videocassettes by category. Afterward Gwen and I discussed my Braxton Hicks contractions again, which had recently started up after a period of relative quiet. She reminded me that it was a normal phenomenon, and also walked me through what I should expect once I went into labor.
That night, I played gin rummy with my aunt and Gwen. I thought I’d hold my own, but it turns out that these two former nuns were pretty much card sharks and after finally putting the deck away, I wondered what exactly went on in convents after the lights were out. I had visions of a casino-like atmosphere with nuns wearing gold bracelets and sunglasses as they sat at felt-lined tables.
Sunday, however, was different. Gwen came by with her blood pressure monitor and the stethoscope and asked the same questions Dr. Huge Hands
normally did, but as soon as she left, I felt out of sorts. Not only wasn’t I in church, but aside from studying for tests, I was pretty much done with school, as I’d finished all of my assignments for the semester. Nor had Bryce left me with his camera, so photography was out as well. The batteries in my Walkman were dead—my aunt had told me she’d pick some up later—leaving me with nothing whatsoever to do. Though I suppose I could have gone for a walk, I didn’t want to leave the house. It was too bright, people were out and about, and my pregnancy was so noticeable that stepping outside was equivalent to having two giant neon arrows pointing toward my tummy, letting everyone know why I’d come to Ocracoke in the first place.
In the end, I finally called my parents. I’d had to wait until midmorning because of the time difference and though I don’t know what I was hoping to hear, my mom and dad didn’t make me feel much better. They didn’t ask about Bryce or my photography, and when I mentioned how far ahead I was in school, my mom barely waited a beat before telling me that Morgan had won yet another scholarship, this time from the Knights of Columbus. When they put my sister on the phone, she seemed tired, which left her quieter than usual. For the first time in a long time, it felt like an actual back-and-forth conversation, and unable to help myself, I told her a little about Bryce and my newfound love of the camera. She sounded almost dumbfounded and then asked when I was coming home, which left me reeling. How could she not have known anything about Bryce or that I’d been taking pictures, or that the baby was due on May 9? As I hung up the phone, I wondered whether my parents and Morgan ever spoke about me at all.
With nothing better to do, I also cleaned the house. Not just the kitchen and my room and my own laundry, but everything. I made the bathroom sparkle, I vacuumed and dusted, and I even scrubbed the oven, though that ended up making my back ache, so I probably didn’t do the greatest job on it. Still, because the house was small, I had hours remaining to kill before my aunt got home, so I went to sit on the porch.
The day was gorgeous, spring making its arrival felt. The sky was cloudless and the water shimmered like a tray of blue diamonds, but I didn’t really pay much attention. Instead, all I could think was that the day kind of felt like a waste, and I didn’t have enough days left in Ocracoke to ever waste one again.
* * *
Tutoring with Bryce now merely consisted of prepping for next week’s exams, the last big round before finals. Because I could do only so much studying, our sessions grew shorter; because we’d gone through pretty much every photograph in the file box, we worked our way through one photography book after another. I realized over time that while almost anyone could learn to frame and compose a photo if they practiced enough, at its best photography truly was an art. An excellent photographer somehow put their soul into their work, conveying a distinct sensibility and personal viewpoint through the picture. Two photographers shooting the same thing at the same time could produce startlingly different images, and I began to understand that the first step in taking an excellent photograph was the simple act of knowing oneself.
Despite the weekend fishing, or maybe because of it, our time together didn’t feel quite the same. Oh, we kissed and Bryce told me that he loved me, he still held my hand when we sat on the couch, but he wasn’t as… open as he’d seemed to be in the past, if that makes any sense. Occasionally I got the feeling that he was thinking of something else, something he didn’t want to share; there were even moments when he seemed to forget I was there at all. It didn’t happen often, and whenever he caught himself, he would apologize for his distraction, although he never explained what was preoccupying him. Yet after dinner, when we were on the porch saying goodbye, his demeanor was clingy, as though he was reluctant to let me go.
Despite my general aversion to leaving the house, we went for a walk on the beach on Friday afternoon. We were the only ones out, and we held hands as we strolled near the water’s edge. Waves rolled lazily toward the shore, pelicans skimmed the breakers, and though we brought the camera with us, we hadn’t yet taken any pictures. It made me realize that I wanted a photo of the two of us together, since we didn’t have a single one. But no one was around to take it, so I remained quiet and eventually we turned back toward the truck.
“What do you want to do this weekend?” I asked. He took a few steps before answering.
“I’m not going to be around. I have to go fishing with my grandfather again.”
I felt my shoulders sink. Was he already pulling away from me, so things would be easier when the time came to say goodbye? But if that was
the case, why did he continue to tell me that he loved me? Why were his embraces so prolonged? In my confusion, I was able to force out only a single syllable.
“Oh.”
Hearing my disappointment, he gently stopped me. “I’m sorry. It’s just something I have to do.”
I stared at him. “Is there something you’re not telling me?” “No,” he said. “There’s nothing at all.”
For the first time since we were together, I didn’t believe him.
* * *
On Saturday, bored again, I tried to study for my tests, thinking the better I did, the more protection I would have in case I bombed the finals. But because I’d done all the reading and assignments and I’d already studied all week, it felt like overkill. I knew I wasn’t going to have any problems and eventually drifted to the porch.
Feeling fully prepared with all my schoolwork behind me was an odd sensation, but it also made me realize why Bryce was so much farther ahead academically than I was. It wasn’t simply because he was intelligent; homeschooling meant cutting out all the nonacademic activities. At my school, there were breaks between classes, minutes for students to settle down at the beginning of every class, school announcements, club sign-ups, fire drills, and longish lunch breaks that were akin to social hours. In class, teachers often had to slow their lessons for the benefit of students who struggled even more than I did, and all those things added up to hours of wasted time.
Even so, I still preferred going to school. I liked seeing my friends, and frankly, the thought of spending day after day with my mom gave me the chills. Besides, social skills were important, too, and even through Bryce seemed perfectly normal, some people—like me, for instance—benefited from mixing with others. Or that’s what I wanted to believe, anyway.
I was pondering all of this while I waited on the porch for my aunt to get back from the shop. My mind wandered to Bryce and I tried to imagine what he was doing on the boat. Was he helping to drag in the net or did they have a machine for that? Or was there no net at all? Was he gutting fish or did they do that at the dock, or was someone else responsible? It was hard to picture, mainly because I’d never been fishing, never been on the boat, and had no idea what they were trying to catch.
It was around that time that I heard crunching in the gravel drive. It was still too early for my aunt to be home, so I had no idea who it could be. To my surprise, I saw the Trickett family van and I heard the sound of the hydraulics being engaged. Grasping the rail, I slowly descended the steps, reaching the bottom when I saw Bryce’s mom rolling toward me.
“Mrs. Trickett?” I asked.
“Hi, Maggie. Am I catching you at a bad time?”
“Not at all,” I said. “Bryce is out fishing with his grandfather.” “I know.”
“Is he all right? He didn’t fall off the boat or something like that?” I frowned, feeling a surge of anxiety.
“I doubt he fell overboard,” she assured me. “I’m expecting him back around five.”
“Am I in trouble?”
“Don’t be silly,” she said, coming to a stop at the foot of the steps. “I went by your aunt’s shop a little earlier and she said it would be all right if I came by. I wanted to speak with you.”
Because it felt funny towering over her, I took a seat on the steps. Up close, she was as pretty as ever, the sunlight illuminating her eyes like emerald prisms.
“What can I do for you?”
“Well…first off, I wanted to tell you that I’m really impressed with your camera work. You have wonderful instincts. It’s extraordinary how far you’ve come in such a short time. It took me years to get to where you are.” “Thank you. I’ve had good teachers.” She moved her hands to her lap and I sensed her unease. I knew she hadn’t driven here to talk to me about photography. Clearing my throat, I went on. “When is your husband coming
home?”
“Soon, I think. I’m not sure of the exact date, but it’ll be good to have him back. It’s not always easy raising three boys alone.”
“I’m sure it isn’t. At the same time, your kids are pretty extraordinary.
You’ve done an incredible job.”
She glanced away before clearing her throat. “Did I ever tell you about Bryce after my accident?”
“No.”
“Obviously, it was a very hard time, but thankfully the army allowed Porter to work from home for the first six months, so he could take care of
me and the kids while we got the house retrofitted for wheelchair access. Eventually, though, he had to go back to work. I was still in a lot of pain and I wasn’t moving nearly as well as I do now. Richard and Robert were four at the time, and they were a real handful. Tons of energy, picky eaters, messy. Bryce pretty much had to become the man of the house while his dad was at work, even though he was only nine years old. In addition to having to look after his brothers, he had to help take care of me, too. He read to them, entertained them, cooked for them, got them in the tub, put them to bed. All of it. But because of me, he also had to do things that a kid should never have to do, like helping me in the bathroom or even getting me dressed. He didn’t complain, but I still feel bad about that. Because he had to grow up more quickly than other kids his age.” When she sighed, I noticed her face seemed to be creased with lines of regret. “After that, he was never a kid again. I don’t know whether that’s been a good thing or a bad thing.”
I tried and failed to come up with an adequate response. Finally: “Bryce is one of the most extraordinary people I’ve ever met.”
She turned toward the water, but I had the sense she wasn’t really seeing
it.
“Bryce has always believed that both of his brothers are…better than he
is. And while they’re both brilliant, they’re not Bryce. You’ve met them. As smart as they are, they’re still kids. When Bryce was their age, he was already an adult. By the time he was six, he’d announced his intent to attend West Point. Even though we’re a military family, even though it’s Porter’s alma mater, we had nothing to do with that decision. If it were up to Porter and me, we’d send him to Harvard. He was accepted there, too. Did he ever tell you that?”
Still trying to process what she’d told me about Bryce, I shook my head. “He said he didn’t want us to have to pay anything. It was a point of
pride for him to be able to go to college without our assistance.” “That sounds like him,” I admitted.
“Let me ask you something,” she said, finally turning toward me again. “Do you know why Bryce has been fishing with his grandfather these past couple of weekends?”
“Because his grandfather needed his help, I guess. Because his dad isn’t back yet.”
Mrs. Trickett’s mouth formed a sad smile. “My dad doesn’t need Bryce’s help. Usually he doesn’t need Porter’s help, either. Porter mainly helps with equipment and engine repairs, but on the water, my dad doesn’t need anyone aside from the deckhand who’s worked for him for decades. My dad’s been a fisherman for over sixty years. Porter goes out with them because he likes to keep busy and enjoys being outside, and because he and my dad get along very well. The point is, I don’t know why Bryce went out with him, but my dad mentioned that Bryce had brought up some things that concerned him.”
“Like what?”
Her eyes were steady on mine. “Among other things, that he’s rethinking his decision to go to West Point.”
At her words, I blinked. “But…that…doesn’t make any sense,” I finally stammered.
“It didn’t make any sense to my dad, either. Or to me. I haven’t mentioned it to Porter yet, but I doubt he’ll know what to make of it.”
“Of course he’s going to West Point,” I babbled. “We’ve talked about it plenty of times. And look at the way he’s been exercising, trying to get ready.”
“That’s another thing,” she said. “He stopped working out.”
I hadn’t expected that, either. “Is it because of Harvard? Because he wants to go there instead?”
“I don’t know. If he does, he probably has to get the paperwork in soon. For all I know, the deadline might have passed.” She lifted her eyes to the sky before bringing them back to me. “But my dad said he also asked a lot of questions about the fishing business, the cost of the boat, repair bills, things like that. He’s been pestering my dad relentlessly for details.”
All I could do was shake my head. “I’m sure it’s nothing. He hasn’t said anything to me about it. And you know how curious he is about everything.”
“How has he been lately? How has he been acting?”
“He’s been a little off ever since he gave away Daisy. I thought it was because he missed her.” I didn’t mention the moments when he’d seemed clingy; it felt too personal, somehow.
She scanned the water again, so blue today it almost hurt the eyes. “I don’t think this has to do with Daisy,” she concluded. Before I could dwell on what she’d just said, she put her hands on the wheels of her chair, clearly
about to depart. “I just wanted to see if he’d mentioned anything to you, so thanks for talking to me. I’d better get home. Richard and Robert were doing some sort of science experiment and Lord only knows what might happen.”
“Of course,” I said.
She turned the wheelchair around, then stopped to face me again. “When is the baby due?”
“May ninth.”
“Will you come to the house to say goodbye?”
“Maybe. I’m kind of trying to keep a low profile. But I want to thank all of you for being so kind and welcoming to me.”
She nodded as though she’d expected the answer, but her expression remained troubled.
“Do you want me to try to talk to him?” I called out as she wheeled toward the van.
She merely waved and answered over her shoulder, “I have the sense that he’s going to be talking to you.”
* * *
I was still sitting on the steps when Aunt Linda returned from the shop an hour later. I watched her pull up, saw her studying me before finally getting out of the car.
“Are you okay?” she asked, coming to a stop before me.
When I shook my head, she helped me stand up. Back inside, she led me to the kitchen table and sat across from me. In time, she reached for my hand.
“Do you want to tell me what happened?”
Taking a deep breath, I went through it all, and when I finished, her expression was soft.
“I could tell she was concerned about Bryce when I saw her earlier.” “What should I say to him? Should I talk to him? Should I tell him that
he has to go to West Point? Or at least tell him to speak to his parents about what he’s thinking?”
“Are you supposed to know any of it?”
I shook my head. Then, “I don’t know what’s going on with him.” “I think you probably do.”
You, she meant. “But he knows I’m leaving,” I protested. “He’s known all along. We’ve talked about it lots of times.”
She seemed to consider her response. “Maybe,” she said, her voice soft, “he didn’t like what you said.”
* * *
I didn’t sleep well that night and on Sunday, I found myself wishing I could have done the twelve-hour church-marathon thing as a distraction from the churn of my thoughts. When Gwen came over to check on me, I could barely concentrate, and after she left, I felt even worse. No matter where I went in the house, my concerns followed, raising one question after another. Even the occasional Braxton Hicks contraction didn’t divert me for long, as inured as I was becoming to the spasms. I was exhausted with worry.
It was April 21. The baby was due in eighteen days.
* * *
When Bryce came to the house on Monday morning, he said little about his weekend. I asked him about it in a conversational way and he mentioned that they’d had to go farther offshore than they’d originally planned, but the season for yellowfin tuna had heated up, and on both days, they’d had a decent haul. He said nothing about his reasons for vanishing the previous two weekends, nor about his college plans, and unsure whether to go on, I let the topic pass.
Instead, it was business as usual, almost like nothing was amiss. More studying, even more photography. By then, I understood the camera like the back of my hand and could make adjustments blindfolded; I’d practically memorized the technical aspects of every photo in the file box and understood the mistakes I’d made when taking my own photos. When my aunt got home, she asked if Bryce had a few minutes to help her install more shelves for the book section of the shop. He willingly agreed, though I stayed behind.
“How did it go?” I asked when she returned alone.
“He’s like his father. He can do anything,” she marveled. “How was he?”
“No strange questions or comments, if that’s what you’re asking.” “He seemed okay with me today, too.”
“That’s good, right?” “I guess.”
“I forgot to mention it earlier, but I spoke to the headmaster and your parents today about school.”
“Why?”
She explained, and although I was in accordance, she must have seen something in my expression. “Are you doing okay?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. And even though Bryce had acted as if everything was normal, I think he was unsure as well.
* * *
The rest of the week was much the same, except that Bryce ate dinner with my aunt and me on both Tuesday and Wednesday. On Thursday, after I’d taken three exams and my aunt had returned to the shop, he asked me on a second date for the following evening—another dinner—but I quickly declined.
“I really don’t want to be gawked at in public,” I said.
“Then why don’t I make dinner here? We can watch a movie afterwards.”
“We don’t have a TV.”
“I can bring mine over, along with the VCR. We could watch Dirty Dancing or whatever.”
“Dirty Dancing?”
“My mom loved it. I haven’t seen it.”
“How can you not have seen Dirty Dancing?”
“In case you haven’t noticed, there are no movie theaters in Ocracoke.” “It came out when I was a little kid.”
“I’ve been busy.”
I laughed. “I’m going to have to check with my aunt to make sure it’s okay.”
“I know.”
As soon as he said it, my mind suddenly flashed to his mom’s visit the previous weekend. “Does it have to be an early night? If you’re going fishing on Saturday again?”
“I’ll be here this weekend. There’s something I want to show you.” “Another cemetery?”
“No. But I think you’ll like it.”
* * *
After I completed my exams on Friday morning with satisfying results, Aunt Linda not only agreed to the second date but added that she’d be happy to spend the evening at Gwen’s. “It’s not much of a date if I’m sitting there with you. What time do you need me to be out of here?”
“Is five o’clock okay?” Bryce asked. “So I have time to make dinner?” “That’s fine,” she said, “but I’ll likely be home by nine.”
After she left to head back to the shop, Bryce mentioned that his dad would be returning home the following week. “I’m not sure exactly when, but I know my mom is happy about it.”
“Aren’t you?”
“Of course,” he affirmed. “Things are easier at the house when he’s around. The twins aren’t so wild.”
“Your mom seems to have it under control.”
“She does. But she doesn’t like always having to be the bad guy.” “I can’t imagine your mom being the bad guy.”
“Don’t let her fool you,” he said. “She’s pretty tough when she needs to be.”
* * *
Bryce left in midafternoon to take care of a few chores. Waking from a late-afternoon nap, I found myself staring in the mirror. Even my stretchy jeans—the bigger ones—were getting tight, and the larger tops my mom had bought for me at Christmas merely stretched across the bulge.
With no possibility of looking dazzling in an outfit, I went a little bolder with makeup than usual, primarily using my Hollywood-quality eyeliner skills; aside from Photoshop, applying eyeliner was the only thing I’d ever been naturally good at. When I stepped out of the bathroom, even Aunt Linda did a quick double take.
“Too much?” I asked.
“I’m not the proper judge of such things,” she said. “I don’t wear makeup, but I think you look striking.”
“I’m tired of being pregnant,” I whined.
“At thirty-eight weeks, all women are tired of being pregnant,” she said. “Some of the girls I worked with would start doing pelvic tilts in the hopes of inducing labor.”
“Did it work?”
“Hard to say. One poor girl went more than two weeks past her expected due date and did pelvic tilts for hours, crying in frustration. It was miserable for her.”
“Why didn’t the doctor induce labor?”
“The physician we worked with back then was pretty conservative. He liked pregnancies to run their natural course. Unless, of course, the
woman’s life was in danger.” “In danger?”
“Sure,” she said. “Pre-eclampsia can be very dangerous, for instance. It makes the blood pressure skyrocket. But there are other issues, too.”
I’d been avoiding thinking about such things, skipping over any frightening chapters in the book my mom had given me. “Am I going to be okay?”
“Of course you are,” she said, squeezing my shoulder. “You’re young and healthy. Anyway, Gwen has been keeping a close eye on you, and she says you’re doing great.”
Though I nodded, I couldn’t help noting that the other girls she’d been talking about had been young and healthy, too.
* * *
Bryce arrived promptly, carrying a grocery bag. He visited with my aunt briefly before she left and then returned to his truck to get the television and VCR. He spent a little while setting it all up in the living room, making sure the system worked, then got down to business in the kitchen.
With my feet hurting and feeling the discomfort of yet another Braxton Hicks contraction coming on, I took a seat at the kitchen table. After the contraction passed and I could breathe normally again, I asked, “Do you need my help?”
I didn’t bother to hide the tepid nature of my offer, and clearly Bryce picked up on it.
“I guess you could go outside and chop wood for the fire.” “Ha, ha.”
“No worries. I’ve got it. It’s not too hard.” “What are you making?”
“Beef Stroganoff and a salad. You mentioned it was one of your favorites and Linda gave me the recipe.”
Because he’d been at the house so many times, he didn’t need my help to find knives or the chopping block. I watched him dice lettuce, cucumbers, and tomatoes for the salad, then onions, mushrooms, and the steak for the entrée. He got a pot boiling on the stove for the egg noodles, dusted the steak in flour and spices, then browned it in butter and olive oil. He sautéed the onions and mushrooms in the same pan as the steak, added the steak back in with beef broth and cream of mushroom soup. The sour
cream, I knew, would be added at the end; I’d seen Aunt Linda make it more than once.
As he cooked, we chatted about my pregnancy and how I was feeling. When I asked him again about the fishing trips, he said nothing about the things that had concerned his mother. Instead, he described the early- morning outings, a hint of reverence in his tone.
“My grandfather just knows where the fish will be,” he said. “We left the docks with four other boats, and they each went in a different direction. We pulled in more than anyone else every time.”
“He’s had a lot of experience.”
“So have the others,” he said. “Some of them have been fishing nearly as long as he has.”
“He seems like an interesting man,” I observed. “Even if I still can’t understand a word he says.”
“Did I mention that Richard and Robert have been learning the dialect? Which is kind of hard to do, since there’s no book on it. They’ve been having my mom make recordings and then they memorize them.”
“But not you?”
“I’ve been too busy tutoring this girl from Seattle. It takes a lot of time.” “The brilliant, beautiful one, right?”
“How did you know?” he responded with a grin.
When dinner was ready, I summoned the energy to set the table; the salad went into a bowl on the side. He’d also brought over powdered lemonade, which I mixed in a pitcher before we sat down to eat.
Dinner was delicious and I reminded myself to get the recipe before I left. For most of the meal, we reminisced about our childhoods, a memory of his sparking a memory of mine and vice versa. Despite my massive tummy—or maybe because of it—I couldn’t eat very much, but Bryce had a second helping and we didn’t settle into the living room until half past six.
I leaned into him as we watched the movie, his arm around my shoulders. He seemed to enjoy it and I did, too, even though I’d seen it five or six times. Along with Pretty Woman, it was one of my favorites. When the film reached the climax—when Johnny lifted Baby on the dance floor in front of her parents—I had tears in my eyes, like always. As the credits rolled, Bryce looked over, amazed.
“Really? You’re crying?”
“I’m pregnant and hormonal. Of course I’m crying.”
“But they danced well. It’s not like one of them got hurt or she messed up.”
I knew he was just teasing me and I rose from my spot on the couch to retrieve a box of tissues. I blew my nose—so much for trying to be glamorous, but with my tummy, I knew glamour was a long way off. Meanwhile, Bryce seemed inordinately pleased with himself and when I returned to the couch, he put his arm around me again.
“I don’t think I’m going to go back to school,” I said. “Ever?”
I rolled my eyes. “I mean when I get home. My aunt talked with my parents and the headmaster, and they’re going to let me take my finals at home. I’ll start up again next fall.”
“Is that what you want to do?”
“I think it would be weird to show up right before school lets out for the summer.”
“How are things with your parents? Do you still talk to them once a week?”
“Yeah,” I said. “We usually don’t talk long.” “Do they tell you that they miss you?”
“Sometimes. Not always.” I shifted slightly, leaning into his warmth. “They’re not the touchy-feely types.”
“With Morgan they are.”
“Not really. They’re proud of her and brag about her, but that’s different. And deep down, I know that they love us both. For my parents, sending me here is a sign of how much they love me.”
“Even if it was hard for you?”
“It’s been hard for them, too. And I think my situation would be hard for most parents.”
“How about your friends? Any word about them?”
“Morgan said that she saw Jodie at the prom. I guess some senior brought her, but I don’t know who it was.”
“Isn’t it a little early for prom?”
“My school hosts the proms in April. Don’t ask me why. I’ve never thought about it.”
“Have you ever wanted to go to a prom?”
“I haven’t thought about that, either,” I said. “I guess I would if someone asked, depending on who they were or whatever. But who knows
if my parents would let me go, even if I did get asked?”
“Are you nervous about how things will be with your parents when you get back?”
“A little,” I conceded. “For all I know, they’re not going to let me out of the house again until I’m eighteen.”
“And college? Have you changed your mind about that? I think you’d do well in college.”
“Maybe if I had a full-time tutor.”
“So…let me get this straight. You might be stuck in the house until you’re eighteen, your friends might have forgotten you, and your parents haven’t told you lately that they missed you. Did I get all that right?”
I smiled, knowing I’d verged on melodrama, even if it did feel more than a little true. “Sorry for being such a downer.”
“You’re not,” he said.
I lifted my head and when we kissed, I could feel his hands in my hair. I wanted to tell him that I was going to miss him but knew the words would make me start crying again.
“This has been a perfect night,” I whispered instead.
He kissed me again before his eyes lingered on mine. “Every night with you is perfect.”
* * *
Bryce came over the following day—the last Saturday in April—and again, he seemed his normal self. His mom had ordered a new photography book from a store in Raleigh, and we spent a couple of hours looking through it. After a lunch of leftovers, we went for another walk on the beach. As we strolled through the sand, I wondered if this was the spot he’d wanted to bring me to, the one he’d mentioned on Thursday. But when he said nothing, I gradually accepted the idea that he’d just wanted to get me out of the house for a while. It was strange to think that Bryce’s mom had come to see me just a week ago.
“How are the workouts going?” I finally asked.
“I haven’t done much in the last couple of weeks.” “Why not?”
“I needed a break.”
It wasn’t much of an answer…or then again, maybe it was, and his mom had been reading too much into it.
“Well,” I began, “you were working out hard for a long time. You’re going to run circles around your entire class.”
“We’ll see.”
Another nonanswer. Bryce could sometimes employ doublespeak as well as my aunt. Before I could clarify, he changed the subject. “Do you still wear the necklace I gave you?”
“Every day,” I answered. “I love it.”
“When I was having it engraved, I wondered whether to add my name, so you would remember who bought it for you.”
“I won’t forget. Besides, I like what you wrote.” “It was my dad’s idea.”
“I’ll bet it will be good to see him, huh?”
“Yeah,” he said. “There’s something I need to speak with him about.” “What?”
Instead of answering, he simply squeezed my hand, and I felt a sudden flutter of fear at the idea that as normal as he seemed on the surface, I had no idea what was going on with him at all.
* * *
On Sunday morning, Gwen came by to check on me and let me know that I was “almost there,” something the mirror had made pretty obvious.
“How are your Braxton Hicks?” “Irritating,” I answered.
She ignored my comment. “You might start thinking about getting a bag ready for the hospital.”
“I still have time, don’t you think?”
“Toward the end, it’s impossible to predict. Some women go into labor early; some take a little longer than expected.”
“How many babies have you delivered? I don’t think I’ve ever asked.” “I can’t remember exactly. Maybe a hundred?”
My eyes widened. “You’ve delivered a hundred babies?”
“Something like that. There are two other pregnant women on the island right now. I’ll probably do their deliveries.”
“Are you upset that I wanted to go to the hospital instead?” “Not in the slightest.”
“I also want to thank you. For staying here on Sundays and checking on me, I mean.”
“It wouldn’t be right to leave you alone. You’re still young.”
I nodded, though part of me wondered if I would ever feel young again.
* * *
Bryce showed up soon after, wearing khakis and a polo along with loafers, looking older and more serious than usual.
“Why are you dressed up?” I asked.
“There’s something I want to show you. The thing I mentioned the other day.”
“The not-another-cemetery thing?”
“That’s the one,” he said. “But no worries. I swung by right before coming here, and there’s no one around.” Reaching out, he took my hand and kissed the back of it. “You ready?”
All at once, I knew he’d planned something big, and I took a small step backward. “Let me brush my hair first.”
I’d already brushed my hair, but I retreated to my bedroom, wishing there were a way to rewind the last couple of minutes and just start over. While Recent Bryce had occasionally seemed off, today’s version was entirely new, and all I could think was that I wished Old Bryce had shown up instead. I wanted to see him in jeans and his olive jacket, with a file box of photos beneath his arm. I wanted him at the table, helping me learn equations or quizzing me on Spanish vocabulary; I wanted Bryce to hold me like he had on the beach that night with the kite, when all felt right with the world.
But New Bryce—all dressed up and who’d kissed my hand—was waiting for me, and as we started down the steps, I had another Braxton Hicks contraction. I had to grip the rail while Bryce looked on in concern.
“It’s getting close, isn’t it?”
“Eleven days, give or take,” I answered, wincing. When the feeling finally passed and I knew I could safely move again, I waddled the rest of the way down. From the bed of the truck, Bryce grabbed a small step stool so I could climb in, just like he’d done before we’d gone to the beach.
The drive took only a few minutes and it wasn’t until he’d turned off the engine at the end of a dirt road that I even realized we were there. Beyond the windshield, I stared at a small cottage. Unlike at my aunt’s place, the nearest neighbors were barely visible through the trees and there was no water in sight. As for the dwelling itself, it was smaller than my aunt’s, set lower to the ground, and even more dilapidated. The wooden planking was faded and peeling, the railings on the front porch appeared to be rotting
away, and I noted clumps of moss on the shingles. It wasn’t until I spotted the FOR RENT sign that I felt a sudden sense of dread, my breath catching in my throat as the pieces came together.
Lost in my daze, I hadn’t heard Bryce get out of the truck, and by then he had reached my side. The door swung open, the step stool already in place. He reached for my arm and helped me down and my brain started repeating the word no…
“I know that what I’m about to say might sound crazy at first, but I’ve given it a lot of thought over the last few weeks. Trust me when I tell you it’s the only solution that makes any sense.”
I closed my eyes. “Please,” I whispered. “Don’t.”
He went on, as though he hadn’t heard me. Or maybe, I thought, I hadn’t said the words aloud, only thought them, because none of this felt real. It had to be a dream…
“From the first moment we met, I’ve known how special you are,” Bryce began. His voice sounded close and distant at the same time. “And the more time we spent together, the more I realized that I’d never meet anyone like you again. You’re beautiful and smart and kind, you have a great sense of humor, and all of that makes me love you in a way that I know I’m never going to be able to love anyone else.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Bryce kept going, his words coming even faster.
“I know you’re going to have the baby and that you’re supposed to leave right afterwards, but even you admit that going home will be a challenge. You don’t have a great relationship with your parents, you don’t know what will happen with your friends, and you deserve more than that. We both deserve more, and that’s why I brought you here. That’s why I went fishing with my grandfather.”
No, no, no, no…
“We can stay here,” he said. “You and me. I don’t have to go to West Point, and you don’t have to go back to Seattle. You can homeschool like I did, and I’m sure we could get everything done so you can graduate next year, even if you decide to keep the baby. And after that, maybe I go to college, or maybe we both go. We’ll figure it out like my parents did.”
“Keep the baby? I’m only sixteen…” I finally croaked out.
“In North Carolina, if there’s a birth of a child, we can petition the courts and they’d allow you to stay. If we live here together, you could be
emancipated. It’s a little complicated, but I know I can find a way to make it work.”
“Please stop,” I whispered, knowing I’d somehow been expecting this since the moment he’d kissed my hand.
He suddenly seemed to recognize how overwhelmed I felt. “I know it’s a lot to take in right now, but I don’t want to lose you.” He drew in a deep breath. “The point is, I’ve found a way that we can be together. I have enough money in the bank to afford to rent this house for almost a year, and I know I can earn enough working with my grandfather to pay the rest of the bills without you having to work at all. I’m willing to tutor you in school, and I want nothing more than to be the father of your baby. I promise to love and adore her and treat her like my own daughter, even adopt her, if you’re willing to let me do that.” He reached for my hand, taking it, before lowering himself to one knee. “I love you, Maggie. Do you love me?”
Even though I knew where all of this was going, I couldn’t lie to him. “Yes, I love you.”
He looked up at me, eyes beseeching. “Will you marry me?”
* * *
Hours later, I sat on the couch, waiting for my aunt to return in what can only be likened to shell shock. Even my bladder seemed stunned into submission. As soon as Aunt Linda got home, she must have noted my expression and she immediately sat beside me. When she asked what had happened, I told her everything, but it wasn’t until I finished that she finally asked the obvious.
“What did you say?”
“I couldn’t say anything. The world was spinning, like I’d been caught in a whirlpool, and when I didn’t speak, Bryce finally said that I didn’t have to answer right away. But he asked me to think about it.”
“I was afraid this might happen.” “You knew?”
“I know Bryce. Not as well as you know him, obviously, but enough not to be completely blindsided. I think his mom was worried about something like this as well.”
No doubt about it, and I wondered why I alone hadn’t seen it coming. “As much as I love him, I can’t marry him. I’m not ready to be a mom or a wife or even to be a grown-up yet. I came here just wanting to put all of this
behind me so I could go back to my normal life, even if it is kind of boring. And he’s right—things could be better back home with my parents or my sister or whatever, but they’re still my family.”
Even as I said the words, my eyes filled with tears and I began to cry. I couldn’t help it. I hated myself for that, even as I knew I was telling the truth.
Aunt Linda reached over and squeezed my hand. “You’re wiser and more mature than you think you are.”
“What am I going to do?”
“You’re going to need to speak with him.” “What should I say?”
“You need to tell him the truth. He deserves that much.” “He’s going to hate me.”
“I doubt that,” she said, her voice quiet. “What about Bryce? Do you think he really thought this through? That he’s really ready to be a husband and father? To live in Ocracoke as a fisherman, or doing odd jobs? To give up West Point?”
“He said that’s what he wanted.” “What do you want for him?”
“I want…” What did I want? For him to be happy? To be a success? To chase his dreams? To become an older version of the young man I’d learned to love? To stay with me forever?
“I just don’t want to hold him back,” I finally said.
Her smile couldn’t hide the sadness in her expression. “Do you think you would?”
* * *
The stress I was feeling made restful sleep impossible, and—maybe because I’d been in shock earlier—the Braxton Hicks contractions returned, with a vengeance, making their presence known all night long. Almost every time I was about ready to doze off, another would strike and I’d have to squeeze Maggie-bear hard just to get through it. I woke up Monday morning exhausted, and even then, they kept going.
Bryce didn’t show up at the house at his usual time, and I wasn’t in any mood to study. Instead, I spent most of the morning on the porch, thinking about Bryce. My mind flitted through dozens of imaginary conversations, none of them good, even as I reminded myself that I’d known all along that
falling in love made a painful and terrible goodbye inevitable. I’d just never expected it to be like this.
I knew he’d come, though. As the morning sun gradually warmed the air, I could almost sense his spirit. I imagined him lying on his bed, his hands clasped behind his head, his eyes focused on the ceiling. Every now and then, he’d likely glance at the clock, wondering whether I needed more time before I was ready to give him an answer. I knew he’d want me to say yes, but what did he think would happen even if I did? Did he expect the two of us to march over to his house and tell his mom and that she’d be happy about it? Did he hope to listen on the phone while I called my parents and told them? Didn’t he know they’d fight the idea of emancipation? And what if his parents stopped speaking to him? And all of that ignored the fact that I was only sixteen and in no way ready for the kind of life he’d proposed.
As Aunt Linda had implied, it didn’t seem like he’d really thought through the ramifications. He seemed to view the answer through a lens that focused only on the two of us seeing each other, as though no one else would be affected. As romantic as that sounded, it wasn’t reality, and it ignored my feelings as well.
I think that’s what was bothering me most. I knew Bryce well enough to assume that the reasons made sense to him, and all I could think was that he, like me, suspected that a long-distance relationship wouldn’t work for us. We might be able to write and call—though calls would be expensive—but when would we be able to see each other again? If I doubted whether my parents were going to let me date, there wasn’t a chance they’d let me go to the East Coast to see him. Not until I graduated, and even then, if I was still living at home, they might not agree. Which meant at least two years, maybe more. And what about him? Could he fly out to Seattle in the summers? Or did West Point have mandatory leadership programs when school wasn’t in session? Part of me thought they probably did, and even if not, Bryce was the type of person who’d ordinarily line up an internship at the Pentagon or whatever. And, as close as he was to his family, he’d have to spend time with them as well.
Could you continue to love and be with someone if you never spent any time with them?
For Bryce, I began to understand, the answer was no. Something within him needed to see me, hold me, touch me. Kiss me. He knew that if I
returned to Seattle and he went to West Point, not only were these things impossible, but we wouldn’t even have the kind of simple moments that led to us falling in love in the first place. We wouldn’t study at the table or walk the beach; we wouldn’t spend afternoons taking photographs or developing prints in the darkroom. No lunches or dinners or watching movies while sitting on the couch. He’d live his life and I’d live mine, we’d grow and change, and distance would take its inevitable toll, like drops of water wearing down a stone. He’d meet someone or I would, and eventually, our relationship would come to an end, leaving nothing but Ocracoke memories in its wake.
For Bryce, either we could be together or we couldn’t; there were no shades of gray, because all those shades reached the same inevitable conclusion. And, I admitted, he was probably right. But because I loved him, and though it was going to break my heart, I suddenly knew exactly what I had to do.
* * *
The realization, I’m pretty sure, caused another Braxton Hicks, this one the strongest yet. It lasted what seemed like forever but finally passed only minutes before Bryce finally showed up. Unlike the day before, he was in jeans and a T-shirt, and though he smiled, there was something tentative about it. Because the day was pleasant, I gestured for him to lead the way back down the stairs. We took a seat in the same spot I’d been when his mother had come by.
“I can’t marry you,” I said straight-out, and watched as he suddenly lowered his gaze. He clasped his hands together, the sight of it making me ache. “It’s not because I don’t love you, because I do. It has to do with me and who I am. And who you are, too.”
For the first time he glanced over.
“I’m too young to be a mother and a wife. And you’re too young to be a husband and father, especially since the child wouldn’t even be yours. But I think you already know those things. Which means you wanted me to say yes for all the wrong reasons.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You don’t want to lose me,” I said. “That’s not the same thing as wanting to be with me.”
“They mean exactly the same thing,” he protested.
“No, they don’t. Wanting to be with someone is a positive thing. It’s about love and respect and desire. But not wanting to lose someone isn’t about those things. It’s about fear.”
“I do love you, though. And respect you—”
I reached for his hand to stop him. “I know. And I think you’re the most incredible, intelligent, kind, and handsome guy I’ve ever met. It scares me to think that I met the love of my life at sixteen, but maybe I have. And maybe I’m making the biggest mistake of my life by saying what I am. But I’m not right for you, Bryce. You don’t even really know me.”
“Of course I know you.”
“You fell in love with the marooned, sixteen-year-old pregnant and lonely version of me, who also happened to be just about the only girl in Ocracoke even close to your age. I barely know who I am these days and it’s hard for me to remember who I was before I got here. Which also means that I have no idea who I’m going to be when I’m a year older and I’m not pregnant. You don’t know, either.”
“That’s silly.”
I forced myself to keep my voice steady. “Do you know what I’ve been thinking about ever since we met? I’ve been trying to picture who you’ll be when you’re an adult. Because I look at you and see someone who could probably be the president, if that’s what you set your mind to. Or fly helicopters or earn a million dollars or be the next Rambo or become an astronaut or anything else, because your future is unlimited. You have a potential that others can only dream about, simply because you’re you. And I could never ask you to give up those kinds of opportunities.”
“I told you that I could go to college next year—”
“I know you could,” I said. “Just as I know you’d always take me into account when you made that decision, too. But even that’s a limit and I couldn’t live with myself if I thought my presence in your life would ever take anything away from you.”
“How about if we wait a few years, then? Until I graduate?” I raised an eyebrow. “A long engagement?”
“It doesn’t have to be an engagement. We can date.” “How? We won’t be able to see each other.”
When he closed his eyes, I knew my earlier thoughts had been correct.
There was something in him that didn’t only want but also needed me. “Maybe I could go to school in Washington,” he muttered.
I could tell he was grasping, making it hard to go on. But I had no other choice. “And give up your dream? I know how much you’ve always wanted to go to West Point, and I want that for you, too. It would break my heart to think you gave up even one of your dreams for me. I want nothing more than for you to know I loved you enough to never take something like that away from you.”
“Then what are we going to do? Just walk away as though you and I never happened?”
I felt my own sadness expanding through me like an inflating balloon. “We can pretend it was a beautiful dream, one that we remember forever. Because we both loved each other enough to allow the other to grow.”
“That’s not good enough. I can’t imagine knowing that I’m never going to see you again.”
“Then let’s not say that. Let’s give it a few years. Meanwhile, you make decisions that are best for your future, and I’ll do the same. We go to school, we get jobs, we figure out who we are. And then, if we both think we want to give it another try, we can find each other and see what happens.”
“How long are you thinking?”
I swallowed, feeling the pressure behind my eyes begin to build. “My mom met my dad when she was twenty-four.”
“More than seven years from now? That’s crazy.” In his eyes, I thought I saw something like fear.
“Maybe. But if it works then, we’ll know it’s right.” “Do we talk until then? Or write letters?”
That would be too hard for me, I knew. If I received regular letters, I’d never stop thinking about him, nor would he stop thinking about me. “How about a single Christmas card every year?”
“Are you going to date other people?”
“I don’t have anyone in mind, if that’s what you’re asking.” “But you’re not saying that you won’t.”
The tears began to fall. “I don’t want to fight with you. I’ve known all along that saying goodbye would be hard, and this is all I can think to do. If we’re meant to be, we can’t just love each other as teenagers. We have to love each other as adults. Don’t you get that?”
“I’m not trying to fight. It’s just such a long time…” His voice cracked.
“It is for me, too. And I hate that I’m saying this to you. But I’m not good enough for you, Bryce. Not yet, anyway. Please give me a chance to be, okay?”
He said nothing. Instead, he gently brushed the moisture from my cheeks. “Ocracoke,” he finally whispered.
“What?”
“On your twenty-fourth birthday, let’s plan to meet at the beach. Where we had our date, okay?”
I nodded, wondering if it would even be possible, and when he kissed me, I thought I could almost taste his sadness. Instead of staying with me, he helped me to my feet and put his arms around me. I could smell him, clean and fresh, like the island where we’d met.
“I can’t help thinking I’m running out of days to hold you. Can I see you tomorrow?”
“I’d like that,” I whispered, feeling his body against my own, already knowing that the next goodbye would be even worse and wondering how I would ever get through it.
What I didn’t know then was that I would never get the chance.
