Elin Hilderbrand - Summer People

He called her every month after her doctor’s appointment, and their conversations consisted almost entirely of the clinical: how much weight had she gained?(Fifteen pounds.) What was she measuring?(Twenty-four centimeters.) Did the AFP screen come back normal?(Yes.) Did she test positive for ges-tational diabetes?(No.) When would she sign up for Lamaze classes?(After the first of the year.) The baby kicked all the time now, Piper said, and the girlfriends who’d shunned her when they found out she’d let that summer kid impregnate her were now the ones who were most eager to lay their hands on the firm sphere of Piper’s belly and feel the baby drum from the inside.

Garrett had had no idea that a single baby could consume so much mental energy; always, in these conversations with Piper, it seemed like there were a hundred small points of discussion all revolving around the baby. In history class, Mr. Rapinski spoke of women in Third World countries who excused themselves from the assembly line of whatever factory they worked at, gave birth in the restroom and handed the infant off to a family member to care for at home. But it was nowhere close to that easy for a couple of white American upper-middle-class teenagers.

Garrett didn’t tell anyone in New York about Piper or the baby, and he forbade Beth and Winnie to mention it to anyone but Kara Schau. His mother understood. “Every man, woman, and child is entitled to one secret,” she said. “I had mine, now you have yours.” Garrett hated putting himself in a similar situation to his mother, and he wondered if the adult thing to do was to come clean, confessing to everyone he knew that he had impregnated his summer girlfriend and then left her to deal with it by herself. Then he could accept blame; he could wear the scarlet letter. You want to be back in New York where you can pretend none of this ever happened, Piper had said. She was right! Garrett didn’t want to be whispered about; he didn’t want the information fermenting his teachers’ opinion of him as they wrote his college recommendations. He didn’t want to lose any friends. He couldn’t wait until March when Piper would birth the baby, then give it away, and the ordeal would be ended.

The holidays came, and because they were the first holidays without Arch, they could only be described as bearable. In January, Beth took the twins to Hunter Mountain to ski, and for the break in February, the three of them flew to Palm Beach and stayed at the Breakers. Garrett praised his mother for these trips, these distractions, and helped out as much as he could-carrying luggage, arranging the limo to and from the airport, and being as amiable as possible.

While they traveled, he found himself thinking about the baby more often. He’d never realized how many children inhabited the world. Babies in car seats and strollers clogged the train station and airline terminals. Garrett heard their cries during takeoff and landing. He noticed, in every public bathroom he used now, the beige Koala changing station bolted to the wall. These had been there all along-they hadn’t been installed to torment him-and yet he never remembered seeing one before. At Hunter Mountain, Garrett, Beth, and Winnie ate dinner at a Mexican restaurant and Garrett became so preoccupied with a blond two-year-old boy at the next table who did a fire engine puzzle over and over, shrieking with delight each time he completed it, that Garrett barely touched his fajitas. At the Breakers, he separated from his mother and sister and lay on a lounge by the baby pool where he watched the little ones cavorting in their water wings. A baby, an actual baby, lived inside of Piper and this time next year that baby would be crawling or walking or swimming. His child. His little boy or girl. It hurt him in a way he couldn’t name. It was worse than heartbreak. It was worse, in a way, than losing his father.

Beth thought that March would never arrive, but then, of course, it did. They marked the one-year anniversary of Arch’s death quietly-dinner in the apartment with Arch’s mother. Trent Trammelman called Beth in the morning to say that the law firm was donating money in Arch’s name to establish a scholarship fund at Danforth. Arch’s secretary, now the secretary for a new attorney, sent flowers, and a bunch of thoughtful souls sent cards. Beth hated the idea of a death day as an anniversary, and yet once it was past, she felt relieved. A milestone survived. Since Christmas, friends had been inviting Beth over to meet men-single, divorced, widowed-and once Beth caught on, she always begged off, saying, “Please, it hasn’t even been a year.” Now that the anniversary had come and gone, her excuse vanished. And yet, Beth couldn’t bring herself to think about dating. All she could think about was their impending trip to Nantucket.

Beth spoke to the headmaster at Danforth: this was a very important family trip (she did not call it a vacation), and for reasons she couldn’t specify, she didn’t know how long they’d be gone.

Everyone at Danforth accommodated them. Winnie and Gar-rett both had excellent grades and they’d both been accepted to college. Garrett got into Princeton on early admission, and Winnie had been accepted at NYU, though she was still waiting to hear from Columbia, Williams, and Brown.

They were free to stay on Nantucket as long as they cared to.

Marcus was coming along for the week of his spring break. He, too, had been accepted to college-Queens College, a short bus ride from his apartment, and Colgate University, upstate. Colgate was a white person’s school, but his English teacher, Ms. Marchese, encouraged him to apply. He wrote an essay about his mother. The admissions committee was so impressed by the essay that they offered him a full ride for all four years, giving Marcus an opportunity worth much more than thirty thousand dollars. Marcus spoke to the swim coach and the head of the black student union, both of whom encouraged him to come. But the deciding factor was the enthusiastic call from one of the English professors who’d read his essay. You have a way of turning words on a page into pure emotion, the professor had said. You have the makings of a fine, fine writer.

Beth had never been to Nantucket in March, and as soon as she stepped out of the Rover onto Horizon’s shell driveway, she understood why. The wind was brutal, whipping across Miacomet Pond in cold, wet sheets. The sky was low and gray and the ocean was a roiling black. The town had been practically deserted-less than half of the businesses showed any signs of life. In New York, trees had already started to bud; crocuses were up. But not here.

This time, Beth had brought her cell phone, and as soon as she sent the kids to the Stop & Shop for firewood and groceries, she called David. He’d sent a Christmas card-no picture, no note-just the three names signed in his handwriting at the bottom. She was nervous dialing his number and not because of Piper. A couple of times over the winter she caught herself repeating his words of the previous summer. I thought about kissing you. I thought about making love to you. When she got very lonely- weekend nights at home when the kids were out and she could hear New York frolicking outside without her-she entertained the possibility of her and David together. Not married again, but together. As companions-that’s what she wanted as she grew older-someone to spend time with once the twins left. Would it be so crazy if that person was David?She went so far as to wonder if he would ever visit her in the city. He’d never been there to her knowledge. She could show him the city the way everyone should experience it.