Rescue - By Anita Shreve Page 0,23

emerged from the bedroom, she was wearing a loose light gray dress. Not a maternity dress, but one that could become one. She had put her hair up, which showed off her long white neck and the pearls at her ears. She had on stockings and a pair of white flat shoes. He whistled and made her turn around and told her she looked beautiful, which she did, though he hardly recognized her, and that threw him a little. It was as if she had on a costume for a theater production.

“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” she said in the cruiser.

“I can’t tell them no at this point. Besides, you’re pregnant with their first grandchild. We have to do this.”

“Doesn’t it seem like everything is happening too fast?”

It did. The pregnancy had put the normal timetable into overdrive. Then he wondered if there would have been a normal timetable at all. If Sheila hadn’t gotten pregnant, what would they be doing now? Taking drives? Still visiting B and Bs? All of that seemed another lifetime ago.

He’d barely absorbed the news of the pregnancy himself. Now he had to help his parents comprehend what their son had done.

Pregnant. Hell of a word.

Webster and Sheila arrived at his parents’ house at exactly 6:30. “Stay in the car,” Webster said. “I’m coming around to get you.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

When he opened her door, and she stepped out, Webster was proud of the way she looked. “I don’t want to sound like an asshole,” he said quietly, “but you might want to get rid of the gum. My mother hates girls who chew gum.”

“You are an asshole,” Sheila said as she wrapped the gum in a tissue from her purse. “How long is this dinner going to last, anyway?”

Webster sighed. “Can you hang in there for two hours?”

“And I’m not a girl,” she said.

Webster’s mother, who’d had her hair done for the occasion, declared straightaway that she was happy to meet Sheila. Sheila said, “Me, too,” while his mother’s eyes slipped to Sheila’s waist, not really visible beneath the gray dress.

Webster’s father was cool. “I know you,” he said, not a trace of a smile on his face. “Toasted bagel, butter instead of cream cheese, a carton of Virginia Slims, coffee black. You used to stand outside the store, juggling the bagel, the coffee, the cigarette, and the carton. I wondered how you could do that.”

“Held the carton between my knees,” she said, leaving the unfortunate image hanging in the air.

“Haven’t seen you much lately, though,” Webster’s father said.

Webster could only imagine how Sheila had looked in his father’s store. Bored? Sullen? Impatient?

“I have a job now,” Sheila said, maybe as embarrassed as Webster was to have had that initial portrait laid bare.

“Well, you have other things on your mind, don’t you, dear?” Webster’s mother said, deftly slaying the elephant. Webster was grateful. “Come right through,” she added. “We’re having drinks and some appetizers on the porch.”

Webster sat next to Sheila, who had her hands in her lap. When asked what she wanted, she said lemonade, a large pitcher of which stood next to a bottle of wine. Webster followed suit, which caused his mother to copy them as well. Only Webster’s father had the wine.

“I understand you’re from Boston,” his father boomed from his chair as if Sheila might be deaf. He had on a white shirt and tie and had groomed his hair with something that made it shine.

“Chelsea, actually,” Sheila said.

“And what’s that like?”

“It’s a small city near Boston. Most people only ever see it from the Mystic River Bridge.”

Webster’s mother was seemingly mesmerized by Sheila’s waistline, visible now that Sheila was seated.

Webster endured a long silence, unable to think of a single thing to say. Nervous, he ate all the nuts in the bowl.

“How did you end up in Vermont?” Webster’s father asked, even though he’d been told the answer.

Sheila looked at Webster. She didn’t know her lines and was desperate for a prompt.

“Car trouble,” Webster answered. “I already told you that.”

“And how did the two of you meet?”

“Dad, stop grilling her,” Webster said, willing to risk a confrontation. His father wasn’t buying Sheila as the sweet newcomer to Vermont. He knew better. He’d seen the woman in the parking lot.

Webster’s mother didn’t care how the two had met. She wanted to talk about the baby to come. “You’re taking care of yourself?” she asked Sheila. “I had such a hard time bringing that one”—she pointed