However, while she was doing all this I would sometimes catch her glaring at me with a glint of steel anger in her eyes. No matter what she had said or how she had spoken about Kirby or about cruel fate. I knew she blamed me. too. Her eyes gave me nightmares. In one dark dream she was actually pregnant. It was as if my pregnancy was contagious. She was screaming with labor pains, and I was at her bedside, holding her hand. and I was still pregnant myself'. I was pleading with her to stop, telling her she wasn't pregnant, but suddenly I heard the sound of a baby's cry. It sent shivers through me as I began to lift the blanket. Fortunately, before I saw anything. I awoke, in a cold sweat and breathing so hard I had pains around my heart.
A full month had gone by, and I had stepped out of the beach house only twice, both times after midnight. I was so terrified of being discovered that I couldn't walk far. and I kept myself in the shadows like some nocturnal creature who could be destroyed by any light, a vampire without any strength, only the curse upon her.
Mommy followed each step of her plan carefully. She went to a maternity shop and bought the clothes. She had more than one conversation with Thelma Carriage, and during the second one she broke out in sobs and revealed that Kirby had left her not only depleted of her fortune but with child. She begged Thelma not to tell anyone. '.which was the same as saying, "Please, tell everyone in the world about me."
Some of her older acquaintances began to phone, pretending to be concerned about her situation but really hoping to get some new tidbit of
information that they could claim. She doled it out cleverly, sprinkling details within the conversation. She claimed she didn't want to know the sex of the child. She said she wasn't sure she would keep the child. She didn't want to give birth anywhere but in the beach house, and maybe that way no one would be aware of the events that would follow. Mommy made each caller feel she was party to a secret, pretending to believe in the caller's oath of loyalty. She was so good and so convincing that I had to pause myself to remember it was all a ruse.
Dr. Cook came to see me once a week. Mommy again making it appear as though he was coming to see her. She was afraid one of his receptionists would find out the truth and reveal it, so she told Brenda Carriage that Dr. Cook was cooperating with her efforts and making house calls.
And then she did what I thought was the piece de re'sistance, the crowning piece of deception. She told Thelma Carriage that she was going to try to convince people the child was mine so she would still be available for any potential new wealthy bachelor or widower. She said she was even having me wear pillows so I would appear pregnant. This would cover any possible error I would make, especially in the event someone saw me. She did this right before she invited the Carriage sisters to an afternoon tea.
By now she had managed to gain nearly seven pounds. Her face was bloated, and her disguised, imitation-pregnant figure was convincing. She told me her plan for the afternoon. I was to remain out of sight until she gave me the signal, and then I was to appear as if I didn't know they were there and quickly retreat after giving them just enough time to see me.
Afterward she was ecstatic. They had bought into it entirely, she said. I thought she was acting strangely now because she was enjoying her success too much, and then an even stranger feeling came over me. I found myself actually becoming jealous. Mommy was relishing and savoring her state of pregnancy and the potential new baby's arrival far more than I was, and my state of pregnancy was real!
At times I thought she believed I really wasn't pregnant. She was doing that good a job of convincing herself so she could be believable to other people. A line from a novel I read during this time came to me: "Be careful of who you pretend to be or you'll became who you pretend to be."
There she was straining to get up from her chair or asking me to get her this or that. She got her waddle walk dawn perfectly and moaned and sighed just like a woman struggling with a pregnancy might. All this she was doing without anyone else but me there! Maybe she thought she was punishing me, getting back at me. I was too amazed and frightened to say anything, because when I did the first time, she turned on me, her eyes 'vide with fury, and screamed. "I'm doing this for you, you fool! I have to practice and get into the state of mind so I don't make any mistakes when I'm in public. How can you be so bright in college, be such an avid reader, and be so stupid sometimes. Grace?"
I quickly retreated, my eyes clouded with tears, and then I thought, she's actually going through the same mood swingsI've experienced, any pregnantwoman experiences. I even caught her in front of the full-length mirror in her room sighing sadly about her lost figure, the fat in her face. Surely she knew it was only for a very short time and it was not really a result of any pregnancy. Then, during my eighth month, she did something that put nightmares even into my daylight hours. She screamed for me one morning and told me to call Dr Cook.
"We need him right away!" It was on the tip of my tongue to ask her why, but I was too frightened by the look in her face. I hurried to the phone and spoke to the receptionist. She said he was at the hospital, but she would contact him and inform him. I returned to Mommy's bedroom and told her. She was lying on her side, moaning, and waved me off.
A few hours later Dr. Cook arrived, but she was there at the door to greet him before I could get there.
"Please, check her. Bob," she told him, and nodded toward me. "She was having labor pains earlier."
I stood back, astounded, but sat on my bed and waited until he came into my room and examined me.
"You're carrying very low." he said. "But I don't think it's going to be before the fall gestation period. Don't worry. This sort of thing is common for first-time mothers. I'm sure you remember it well. Jackie Lee," he told her, and she nodded.
Outside my room she thanked him profusely, cried, and had him comfort her.
"Now, now." he said. "It's all going well. You'll get through this. Don't worry."
She thanked him again, and he left. Moments later she was at my door.
"You should be very grateful to that man," she said. "He's doing us a great favor, He loved Winston like a brother."
"I know." I said, my face full of questions. "But why did you have me send for him? I didn't have labor pains."
"You could have had. People would expect it. We haven't seen the doctor for a while," she said with growing impatience. "Why do you question what I'm doing? Why aren't you grateful and thankful?"
"I am, but..."
"Just do exactly as I tell you," she snapped, and then she went to eat one of her fattening snacks.
The last month was the worst. Whenever I had a real pain she would have to imitate it. She had become a fanatical method actor. Her screams echoed my own until I swallowed them back. The pain brought tears to my eyes. but I didn't reveal it. She even remarked about how hard the baby was kicking.
"It's difficult to get a good night's rest," she said.
There were times when I thought, maybe she's doing this to be sure I'm really pregnant and it's not just a big tumor. She looked as if she wanted me to confirm every symptom, every action.
And then my water broke. I was standing in the kitchen doorway watching her move with great effort to fill the dishwasher. I screamed, "Mommy!"
She turned, saw what was happening, and went to the phone to called Dr. Cook,
She helped me back to bed. muttering, "Finally, finallythis will be over. Breathe,," she ordered. "Remember the breathing."
She did it to demonstrate. My eyes were on her the whole time. She looked as if she felt every one of my pains, the tightening, the pressure.
Dr. Cook arrived, Mommy wasn't wearing anything under her dress by then. He hurried into my bedroom, told her what to get for him, and bare down on my delivery. It took four hours and left me so exhausted I barely acknowledged that it had finally happened. The baby's cries seemed so far off. but he showed me the infant. It was a boy.
"Fine-looking baby," Dr. Cook said. "I told you not to worry. Jackie Le
e."
"Yes." she said. "He is beautiful.'
"What are you going to name him?" he asked her.
I could barely breathe. He was talking to her as if the baby really was hers. Had everyone gone mad?
"I thought I'd name him after my grandfather. Linden," she said. She looked at me. "Linden Montgomery. We'll return to that surname,
Montgomery. I don't want to even remember the name Scott. How's that sound. Grace?"
I nodded, my throat too tight to speak.
"Well, baby and mother are doing fine. I'll be back in a few days to check on you both." he said, this time looking at me.
I closed my eyes. I was expecting Mommy to put baby Linden beside me, but she left the room with him in her arms.
"We'll have to keep the bassinet in my room." she said. "Just in case. You never know. Someone could go walking by and look in our windows."
"But he'll keep you awake," I said. I wanted my baby beside me. I had an overwhelming need to have him there, to hold him.
"Grace, don't argue about the details. We're pulling this off. I've saved your reputation." she told me. "Be grateful, and don't cause any difficulties."
She had to bring the baby back to me for feeding, but she had already planned on this as well and had bought a padded bra so her own breasts would look swollen with milk. Later I discovered her lying in her bed with Linden beside her naked breast, his lips around her nipple like a baby with a pacifier in his mouth,
"He must be hungry," was all I could say.
She opened her eyes and looked at me as if I were absolutely crazy.
"Go back to bed, Grace. I know when he's really hungry and when he's not." she said, and brought the blanket up so it covered him and her as well.
A few weeks later. after I had fed him, she came to fetch him. and I refused to give him up.
"No, Mother." I said firmly. "Just leave him be."
She looked at me, her eyes blinking quickly. "What? Why?"
"He's my baby," I said sharply,
"You can't do that. Grace. You can't say that."
"I can to you. We know the truth, don't we?"
"But if someone sees you with him..."
"So what if they do? I can be seen holding him. He's my half-brother, isn't he? As far as anyone else knows, that is. Besides. I'm keeping my shades down all the time. Mommy. No one can see in here."
"It's still too dangerous," she insisted, "Give him to me. I'll put him back where he belongs so he can sleep."
"No," I said.
"Grace. I have no patience for this. Look at what I've gone through to give birth instead of you! You think I want to risk ruining all we have done?"
"All we have done? All you have to do now is go on a diet. Mommy, and you'll be fine."
"Go on a diet?" She threw her head back and laughed. "That's all? What about my reputation? My life? What about the aftereffects socially? I have borne the burden of it all and will forever." she said. "You can go off to college or something and find a handsome new beau and have a wonderful life. Now give me the child," she demanded, and reached for him.
I had no doubt in my mind she would tug off an arm or a leg if I held him back. so I relinquished him, and she left me sobbing in my pillow.
As the months went by and Linden grew nothing really changed. She would be the one who primarily fed him when he was off breast-feeding. She dressed him every morning, bathed him, and went shopping for his clothes. She even took him to Dr. Cook's office for a checkup. All the while I was left at home, left in the wings of her new stage show, watching like some bystander. I couldn't remember a time I felt more alone, more lost. I really did feel like some stranger, some surrogate mother who had been paid to house the fetus and had nothing more to do with him. Mommy didn't seem to notice. She was doting too much on Linden now and becoming more and more annoyed by anything I asked or did.
Meanwhile the new family in the main house, almost like a relay racer taking a baton in handoff, had continued the elaborate parties Mommy and Kirby had staged. We were always invited. but Mommy was hesitant about attending them, ashamed of where we were living and what had happened to us. The music, the laughter, even the wonderful aromas of the variety of foods reached us no matter how we closed and battened down our apartment.
"I feel like I attend anyway," Mommy muttered, and eventually got up the courage to wander over occasionally.
The Eatons had two children, a girl named Whitney and a boy named Thatcher. The little boy was handsome, adorable, but his sister was tall for her age and always looked sad and upset whenever I saw her. They rarely if ever came near the beach house. Mommy said they were probably told we were like the untouchables in India or something.
I had become so accustomed to staying at home and so afraid of wandering too far off that I didn't meet or converse with anyone besides one of the servants for the main house. They all lived behind and above us in the beach house. I supposed I was something of a curiosity to them and especially to the Eaton children. It didn't bother me. Nothing seemed to bother me. Nothing seemed to matter anymore. I ate. I slept. I took care of Linden when Mommy would allow or be doing something, going somewhere. That was the whole of my life.
I truly felt as if the world had closed in on me, that there were no boundaries, and that even on the brightest days the rim of darkness was always there, a circle drawn around me and out of which I should never wander. Linden was walking now, and Mommy would permit me to take him on the beach and let him play in the sand.
"I'm really your mommy," I would tell him when she was out of earshot. "You're my baby."
Sometimes he looked at me as though he really understood. I so wanted him to be looking at me when he said "Mama." I repeated it many times, and even though he wasn't looking directly at me. I thought he was making the connection and would someday just start calling me Mama, and then my mother would surrender him.
It didn't happen that way, and I cried at night thinking about it. Sometimes I cried myself to sleep. I went from one kind of darkness into another. Time began to lose meaning altogether for me. There were weeks on end when I didn't know what day it was. What difference would it have made anyway? I told myself.
"You should be thinking of returning to school now. Grace." Mommy would say morning after morning. "We have a little money for that. I'm not telling you to pick some fancy college, but you have to get back out there, otherwise why did I make this great sacrifice."
The more she pressured me to leave, the more terrified of it I became. We had long ago sold my car. I hadn't been on Worth Avenue or in a supermarket or &pal [merit store for more than a
year, much less mingle with people my age., but I couldn't ignore the way she was pressuring me to go. It was almost as if she wanted to be alone with Linden, and as long as I was around she couldn't be his real mother.
I really didn't know what to do. It all made me more nervous, more unsure of myself Sometimes I would wander for hours on the beach, traipsing back and forth, walking through the edge of the incoming tide, sitting for hours and hours and looking out at the ships, moving like someone in a daze. Whom could I ask to help me? Whom could I trust?
And then, one night, he was just there.
I was standing on the dock, embracing myself and staring at a luxury liner that was close enough far me to hear the sounds of music and laughter. To me it seemed more like a ship full of people who had escaped every dark moment, every second of sadness, every worry and trouble in their lives, and now drifted in a perpetual state of happiness and excitement, drunk on the stars above them.
"I bet you wish you were on that ship. Sailor Girl," I heard, and turned to see Daddy standing there. He was in full-dress uniform, his medals gleaming in the starlight.
"Daddy!"
"Hey," he said.
I ran to him, and he held me just the way he always did. "I'm so alone. Daddy, and so lost."
"I know," he said. "Don't worry, I'll be here for you when you need me."
<
br /> "I gave birth to a little boy, Daddy. but Mommy is so possessive she won't let me be his mother even in secret."
"Give her time," he said in his usual confident manner. "We all need time."
"Why did you go, Daddy? Why did you leave us?"
"Hey, you know what it's like for an officer. When he's called, he's called. You don't question orders, Sailor Girl. You do your duty as you swore you would. You wouldn't have wanted me to go AWOL, would you? Well?"
"No, but I missed you so much, and I needed you so much. I'm tired. Daddy, tired, and I'm too young to be this tired."
He laughed. "You'll catch your breath and be strong again," he said. "Tell me about the little boy."
"He's so beautiful and clever. You should see him draw shapes in the sand. He looks at things, and then he draws them with his little finger."
"That's wonderful." Daddy said.
The luxury liner was moving farther and farther away, the laughter and the music becoming too distant to hear. The ship seemed to slip right into the darkness and take all the stars with it. I watched it disappear, and then I turned back to Daddy, but he wasn't there.
"Daddy?" I called. I started dawn the dock toward shore. "Daddy?"
I moved faster and called for him louder, and then I stopped at the shoreline and looked to my right and to my left and screamed for him.
"What do you think you're doing, screaming like that. Grace?"
Mommy was out on the rear loggia. She was in her robe and had her hair pinned up. The facial cream she put on her skin every night to keep it soft and youthful gleamed in the weak glow of the outside ceiling fixture just like Daddy's medals had gleamed in the starlight.
"I..."
"What, Grace? Well?" she demanded.
"I saw Daddy," I said "He was right here. We spoke to each other."
"Great." she said, and turned and walked back into the apartment.