“Like to walk around the grounds?”
It was the tree house that decided Jennifer. It was built on a platform high up in a sturdy oak tree. Her son’s tree house. There were three acres, with the back lawn gently sloping down to the sound, where there was a dock. It would be a wonderful place for her son to grow up in, with plenty of room for him to run around. Later, he would have a small boat. There would be all the privacy here that they would need, for Jennifer was determined that this was going to be a world that belonged only to her and her child.
She bought the house the following day.
Jennifer had had no idea how painful it would be to leave the Manhattan apartment she and Adam had shared. His bathrobe and pajamas were still there, and his slippers and shaving kit. Every room held hundreds of memories of Adam, memories of a lovely, dead past. Jennifer packed her things as quickly as possible and got out of there.
At the new house, Jennifer kept herself busy from early morning until late at night, so that there would be no time to think about Adam. She went into the shops in Sands Point and Port Washington to order furniture and drapes. She bought Porthault linens, and silver and china. She hired local workmen to come in and repair the faulty plumbing and leaky roof and worn-out electrical equipment. From early morning until dusk, the house was filled with painters, carpenters, electricians and wallpaper hangers. Jennifer was everywhere, supervising everything. She wore herself out during the day, hoping she would be able to sleep at night, but the demons had returned, torturing her with unspeakable nightmares.
She haunted antique shops, buying lamps and tables and objets d’art. She bought a fountain and statues for the garden, a Lipschitz, a Noguchi and a Miró.
Inside the house, everything was beginning to look beautiful.
Bob Clement was a California client of Jennifer’s and the area rugs he had designed for the living room and the nursery made the rooms glow with subdued color.
Jennifer’s abdomen was getting bigger, and she went into the village to buy maternity clothes. She had an unlisted telephone installed. It was there only for emergencies, and she gave no one the telephone number and expected no calls. The only person in the office who knew where she lived was Ken Bailey, and he was sworn to secrecy.
He drove out to see Jennifer one afternoon, and she showed him around the house and grounds and took enormous pleasure in his delight.
“It’s beautiful, Jennifer. Really beautiful. You’ve done a hell of a job.” He looked at her swollen abdomen. “How long is it going to be?”
“Another two months.” She put his hand against her belly and said, “Feel this.”
He felt a kick.
“He’s getting stronger every day,” Jennifer said proudly.
She cooked dinner for Ken. He waited until they were having dessert before he brought up the subject.
“I don’t want to pry,” he said, “but shouldn’t whoever the proud papa is be doing something—?”
“Subject closed.”
“Okay. Sorry. The office misses you like hell. We have a new client who—”
Jennifer held up a hand. “I don’t want to hear about it.”
They talked until it was time for Ken to leave, and Jennifer hated to see him go. He was a dear man and a good friend.
Jennifer shut herself off from the world in every possible way. She stopped reading the newspapers and would not watch television or listen to the radio. Her universe was here within these four walls. This was her nest, her womb, the place where she was going to bring her son into the world.
She read every book she could get her hands on about raising children, from Dr. Spock to Ames and Gesell and back again.
When Jennifer finished decorating the nursery, she filled it with toys. She visited a sporting goods shop and looked at footballs and baseball bats and a catcher’s mitt. And she laughed at herself. This is ridiculous. He hasn’t even been born yet. And she bought the baseball bat and the catcher’s mitt The football tempted her, but she thought, That can wait.
It was May, and then June.
The workmen finished and the house became quiet and serene. Twice a week Jennifer would drive into the village and shop at the supermarket, and every two weeks she would visit Dr. Harvey, her obstetrician. Jennifer obediently drank more milk than she wanted, took vitamins and ate all the proper, healthy foods. She was getting large now and clumsy, and it was becoming difficult for her to move about.
She had always been active, and she had thought she would loathe getting heavy and awkward, having to move slowly; but somehow, she did not mind it. There was no reason to hurry anymore. The days became long and dreamy and peaceful. Some diurnal clock within her had slowed its tempo. It was as though she were reserving her energy, pouring it into the other body living inside her.
One morning, Dr. Harvey examined her and said, “Another two weeks, Mrs. Parker.”
It was so close now. Jennifer had thought she might be afraid. She had heard all the old wives’ tales of the pain, the accidents, the malformed babies, but she felt no fear, only a longing to see her child, an impatience to get his birth over with so she could hold him in her arms.
Ken Bailey drove out to the house almost every day now, bringing with him The Little Engine That Could, Little Red Hen, Pat the Bunny, and a dozen Dr. Seuss books.
“He’ll love these,” Ken said.
And Jennifer smiled, because he had said “he.” An omen.
They strolled through the grounds and had a picnic lunch at the water’s edge and sat in the sun. Jennifer was self-conscious about her looks. She thought, Why would he want to waste his time with the ugly fat lady from the circus?