Rescue - By Anita Shreve Page 0,21
he thought maybe there was.
“Go sit in there,” she said, gesturing to the jalousie porch.
Webster, though he’d slept from nine to four thirty, felt exhausted. Bone-weary, mind-weary. He could hear Sheila moving around in the kitchen. He could have used three more beers in quick succession, but he wouldn’t get them at Sheila’s. He hoped he wouldn’t, anyway.
He supposed the announcement had gone as well as it could have. His father hadn’t stomped out. His mother hadn’t actually wept. There would be yet another chapter to the new saga. He laid his head against the back of the wall and dozed until Sheila came in with a tray. She set the food down.
“You think you can make it to the table?” she asked.
He smiled. “Spaghetti and meatballs,” he said. “Perfect.”
After he was seated, he glanced up and saw Sheila for the first time that evening. Did he imagine that her face was fuller? “How are you?” he asked, a question he should have asked the minute he’d walked in the door.
“OK,” she said. “Still can’t stand the smell of coffee, which is a real problem at work. When I get outside and breathe in the air, it’s like a happy drug.”
“No morning sickness?” he asked.
“Not morning. Sometimes in the afternoon I get a headache and I feel nauseous. But I hate throwing up so much, I’m willing my body not to do it.”
“You look beautiful,” Webster said.
“Jesus, you really were hungry.”
He slowed down. “You have any bread?”
“Sure.”
“With butter?”
“It was that bad.”
“It was that bad.”
They sat at the edge of her bed, Webster not sure if they would make love or not. “We’re invited to dinner next Saturday,” he said.
“Won’t that be a disaster?”
“It has to happen,” Webster said. “There’s no avoiding it.”
“Can’t we just have a secret baby and stay in a secret place?” She had her fingers in his hair. He hoped that she was kidding.
“And another thing,” Webster said. “We have to start looking for a place to live.”
“Our own apartment?” she asked, drawing back so that she could see his face.
“Of course.”
“We don’t have to live with your parents, and we don’t have to live here?”
“Sheila, did you really think we could possibly do that?”
She ruffled his hair and drew her hand away. “I didn’t know what your finances were. Mine aren’t too great.”
“Combined, I think we can just make it. It has to be small, and it has to be something close to town.”
“Close to town? Where there are shops and people, and I could walk to work?” she asked, wide-eyed. The couple from whom Sheila rented the jalousie porch had given her the use of their ancient Buick, insisting they never drove it. Sheila was planning on buying it when she’d saved enough money. She had needed a car to get back and forth to work, and Webster guessed the old folks were more than happy to aid their tenant in that endeavor. Sheila didn’t make as much fun of them as she used to. “This living in the sticks is driving me nuts.”
The northern border of Hartstone could hardly be called the sticks. Unless you thought the entire state of Vermont the sticks.
She wrapped her arms around his neck. “This is so cool.”
Webster smiled. “Yeah, I suppose it is.” The idea of their future being cool hadn’t really occurred to him.
He undid her belt buckle and smoothed her belly. “You’re showing,” he said.
“I am not.”
“Go look at yourself in the mirror.”
“I don’t have a mirror,” she reminded him, and he thought about the small circle high over the bathroom sink.
“Well, I think we’ll have to go somewhere that has a full-length mirror.”
Webster thought. It had to be a place that was still open. A bar? A full-length mirror in the ladies’ room? A bad idea. And then he had it. “The Giant Mart,” he said. “They’re bound to have a ladies’ room with a big mirror that goes down to the sinks. If you wear your boots, you’d be high enough to see.”
“This is so weird,” she said and kissed him on the cheek.
“After we find a place, and I think we should start tomorrow, even though it’s a Sunday, the first piece of furniture we’re going to put in there is a full-length mirror.”
She cocked her head and gave a little shake.
“So you can see how beautiful you are. And will be when you’re eight months pregnant.”
“I’ll be fat.”
“You’ll be gorgeous.”
She frowned, and it occurred to Webster that he’d never known Sheila to