Maine - J. Courtney Sullivan [89]
“I’m pretty sure Valium’s a bad idea when you’re knocked up,” Maggie said.
“Shit, right. Good point. Sorry, I’m flummoxed. I want to help.”
Maggie smiled. “You’re sweet.”
“Forget sweet. I owe you one.”
“What for?”
“You really saved me the day of my divorce, Maggie. Do you even know that? If we hadn’t gone to dinner that night, I don’t know what would have happened to me. I don’t have many friends here.”
Rhiannon hadn’t seemed desperate that evening. They had eaten a nice meal, had a glass of wine, laughed about their lives and their ridiculous dating histories. It was hard to imagine that Maggie had done anything extraordinary for her.
“So you’re keeping it then?” Rhiannon asked.
Maggie felt a knot tighten up in her chest. All the times she had imagined being pregnant, she’d never envisioned having to answer that question. But the answer came fast: “Yes. Definitely.”
Rhiannon nodded. “Good for you. Hey, do you want to borrow my Subaru to drive to Maine?”
“You have one?” Maggie asked.
“I never drive it,” Rhiannon said. “I just keep it around in case I need a getaway car.”
“That’s okay,” Maggie said. “I don’t even have a driver’s license. But it’s no big deal. I’ll take the bus. I can sleep, get some reading done.”
Rhiannon looked thoughtful. “How long is the drive?”
“Five hours.”
“That’s nothing. I’ll drive you there tomorrow and then turn back. I’ve got class on Wednesday afternoon.”
“That’s crazy.”
“Not really. I’ve never seen New England. I love long car rides. And I haven’t been anywhere in weeks. I’m starting to get stir-crazy.”
Maggie raised an eyebrow.
“Also, I’m thinking you could use the company,” Rhiannon said. “And, what could be more fun on a day off than a drive to the beach?”
“Really?” Maggie said. “That might be great if you’re sure you don’t mind. This is one of those moments when it hits me how moronic I am for not knowing how to drive.”
“Don’t worry about that. This way it will be cheaper than if you had to rent a car anyway,” Rhiannon said.
Maggie wondered if Rhiannon was picturing her as an impoverished young mother, saving pennies for the baby’s formula. And was that perception so far from the truth? She was suddenly paralyzed by the thought of money: she made a mental note to inquire about freelance work, as much as she could manage in the next seven months, and to find more people who needed help with their online dating profiles. Maybe she could place an ad on Craigslist, even though the thought of being a single, pregnant matchmaker—the brains behind other people’s awkward first dates—made her want to throw up.
“What do you say?” Rhiannon asked now.
“If you’re sure it’s not a pain,” she said. “Why don’t you sleep on it and we can decide tomorrow? I really don’t mind taking the bus.”
“No need,” Rhiannon said. “Consider me your chauffeur.”
Kathleen
Kathleen prepared the wooden box, laying down first a layer of damp leaves and then a layer of dirt. She began to pat the dirt so that it was even.
She thought of the advice she had given Maggie an hour earlier: nettle root, and Saint-John’s-wort, and oh, did I mention getting rid of that horrendous Waspy jerk boyfriend once and for all? Not just waiting around, as she knew Maggie would, to see what he wanted? No, Kathleen hadn’t said this last part. She knew Maggie didn’t like it when she blurted out her opinions like that. Everything in due time, she told herself. Still, it was hard to watch your baby torture herself over an unworthy man. She had had to rush to get off the phone so she wouldn’t say as much.
“Uh, Kath, I think you’ve beaten that dirt down enough,” Arlo said.
She hadn’t been paying attention. In her frustration, she had packed it too hard. She’d have to start over, and there were twenty-four boxes to go after this one.
“We need a goddamn intern,” she said.
“Calm down. Maggie will be okay.”
“This isn’t about Maggie,” she said, though she knew it was. Then she added, “Sorry. I’m not myself today.”
He shrugged. “You can’t help it if your family