Maine - J. Courtney Sullivan [136]
I’m missing you in Maine. I know we have our phone calls, but as discussed, I barely get cell service here, and each time I call you from the landline in Alice’s house, I know she’s listening to every word I say. It’s been over two weeks since I arrived, and the days are flying. Do you remember the way time moves differently here? A day goes by in an hour, and the nights seem endless. (Here, I find I am still slightly scared of the dark. It never actually gets dark in New York, now that I think about it. Maybe that’s why I like it so much.) I love the simple routine of cottage life—I have twelve more days until I have to clear out, and I’m already dreading saying good-bye. Each morning I get up early and walk the beach alone. I walk up to Ruby’s and buy tea, a paper, and groceries for the day. I have been frequenting Café Amore with alarming regularity. (I am often one bite away from a blueberry French toast overdose.) Then I go home and write for a few hours, maybe have lunch or dinner with Alice. Sometimes we watch TV together at night. It’s nice. She’s still her crazy self, but we have had our moments. Most of the time I am alone, which I like. I’ve had a lot to think about.
There is something I’ve been trying (or, in some cases, trying not) to say each time we’ve talked these past few weeks, but I can’t seem to get the words out, which is strange—I’ve always known that I can come to you with anything and you will support me, help me make it right. I’ve always known that with you I can be my true self, whatever that means.
The thing I’ve wanted to say (Jeez, I can barely manage to write it) is this: I’m pregnant. Needless to say, my emotions lately have run the gamut between terrified, bewildered, and elated, especially given my situation with Gabe. But I’ve decided to settle on the last of these feelings. I am having this baby, and I’m happy. Truly happy. Sitting here in the living room in the cottage, I remember so clearly that spring when we—you, me, and Chris—lived here. You were panicked then, but look what you made of it. I have no doubt that raising a child alone is beyond difficult. I’ve thought through all the challenges. But I know I won’t be alone: I’ll have you.
I thought by writing this instead of saying it over the phone, I’d give you the time to really process it before reacting. I know you might be worried or freaked out or disappointed in me. Please think about it for a while, as I have, before you respond, okay? I’m here in Maine, tucked away safe, and I feel that (for now at least) everything is right with the world.
Love you always,
Maggie
P.S. I think there might be some weird sexual tension between Grandma and her priest.
Ann Marie
When the phone rang, Ann Marie was clipping coupons from the Sunday circular at the kitchen table, same as most Monday mornings, unaware that something big was about to happen. She pressed the cordless receiver between her shoulder and her cheek so she could continue cutting out a three-for-one special on Windex. She’d leave one bottle here at the house and bring the other two with her to Maine the next day.
If they had it to do over again, she would have asked Pat to put less glass on the architectural plans for the big house in Cape Neddick. It got so dirty. Though it did have a gorgeous view of the beach from almost every room. Focus on the positive. That was a motto of hers.
Someday that house would be theirs. Then perhaps she’d make a few changes. The kitchen, for instance, was almost too modern. The cottage had to stay—Pat wouldn’t have it otherwise—but maybe they could do more landscaping, allow for more of a real yard for the grandkids to run around in, and a proper driveway.
“Hello?” she said now.
“I’m calling to speak with Mrs. Ann Marie Kelleher,” said a woman with an English accent.
“This is she.”
“My name is Louise Parnell. I’m calling from the Wellbright Miniatures Fair offices with some wonderful