Ruth awoke to the sound of a baby crying.
She reached for the water glass on her bedside table, her head throbbing. Lunch at Napi’s had turned into drinks at the A-House, and that had turned into midnight.
Oh, what a mistake! And yet the night had been undeniably fun. It was so easy to sit back and let Clifford do most of the talking. Having lived in Provincetown for thirty years, he was an endless font of colorful stories about the past and juicy gossip about the present.
“Transgression,” he’d said, “is a grand Provincetown tradition.”
He quoted something that Henry David Thoreau had written about the shores of the Cape: “A man may stand there and put all America behind him.” Ruth, in her inebriated state, had confessed, “I’ve come here to put everything behind me too.”
Clifford had reached across the table and patted her hand. “Haven’t we all, doll.”
Again, the loud squawk of an infant. Ruth sat up and peeked out the window, squinting against the sunlight. Where was that coming from? And then yesterday’s encounter with Elise Douglas came rushing back to her.
Was it possible that Elise and the baby were still here? No. That would be beyond the pale. Absolutely crossing a line.
Ruth pulled on a robe, stepped into her Ugg slippers, and opened her bedroom door. Yes, the noise was undeniably coming from inside the house. She padded down the stairs to the kitchen.
Elise sat at the kitchen table with the crying infant on her lap.
“What are you doing here?” Ruth said, incredulous.
“I’m sorry. I don’t have anywhere else to take her.”
Ruth felt her pulse begin to race. “Elise, I understand that there is some degree of unconventionality in this town. And I respect that, I do. But this is going too far. I paid good money for this house for the summer. You can’t just walk in here whenever you feel like it. Frankly, I don’t want you even ringing the doorbell to visit. For the next three months, you need to pretend this house doesn’t exist. Okay?”
Elise shook her head. “I’m sorry, Ruth. I really am. But this is bigger than the house. It’s bigger than whatever money we’d make giving up Shell Haven for the summer.”
The woman was clearly losing it. “Elise, I’m not sure what’s going on here, but I’m calling Fern.”
“No! Please. Don’t call Fern. Just…can you sit for a minute? Just…oh God, she won’t stop crying.”
The baby’s face was bright red. The sound was unbearable. Ruth remembered sitting in the kitchen at the house in Cherry Hill holding a wailing Olivia and feeling completely helpless. She’d called her own mother on many occasions, looking for guidance in deciphering the needs of her fussy infant. The words of wisdom, the small fixes, were coming back to her in a rush.
“She must have gas,” Ruth said. “You need to change her position. Motion helps sometimes. Here—let me have her.”
Ruth lifted the baby, surprised by how light she was. It was easy to forget how small babies were, how utterly helpless. She had forgotten too, that unique baby scent that even now, in her state of irritation, elicited a primal caretaker urge. She stood, placed the baby against her shoulder, and rubbed her back in small circles alternating with firm pats. The crying continued; escalated even. Ruth walked into the living room, paced back and forth. Still no relief. She walked back to the kitchen, where Elise sat looking exhausted and panicked. Ruth kept her hands moving against the tiny back, not letting up the rhythm of rubbing and patting.
“Is this normal?” Elise said, raking her hand through her hair.
And then a burp so cartoonishly loud, they both looked at the baby in surprise.
The crying stopped.
“There you go,” Ruth murmured. The baby nestled against the base of her neck. Again, that distinct scent played on her senses. The baby was strange, yet utterly familiar. All Ruth’s maternal instincts, muscle memory, kicked in. And yet she had not been able to enjoy the times she held her own daughter. She remembered taking conference calls and typing memos with Olivia strapped across her chest in a sling. How eager she had been to hire a nanny and get back to work. She’d prided herself on not missing a beat but later realized she had not appreciated that first year of babyhood. And she could never get it back.
“I should put her down to sleep,” Elise said, standing and reaching for the baby.
Ruth handed her over. “Okay, but where are you—”
“I’m just going to put her in the spare room on the second floor. I have a bassinet.”
She swept out of the kitchen before Ruth could effectively protest.
Oh, dear. This would not do. This would not do at all.
She leaned against the counter, waiting for Elise to return. Her mind ticked through the various ways she could reason with Elise about staying out of the house without sounding heartless. Elise and Fern would just have to do their baby caretaking in their own place. There was no reason why that shouldn’t be possible.
Elise walked back into the kitchen, picked up the empty baby bottle, unscrewed the top, and started rinsing both in the sink. “Thanks for your help. Maybe that formula isn’t the best for her?” she said, reaching for the Palmolive.
“Elise, I don’t know what’s going on here, but you need to take the baby to your own place. Today.”
Elise shook her head. “There’s no room for her there. The upstairs of the tea shop—it’s a mess. We fixed up our bedroom area, but the quarters are small,” she said, sitting down at the table again.
“Aren’t you going to report this abandoned baby?”
Elise flinched. “I’d rather not look at her as abandoned. I think someone wasn’t willing or able to care for her properly and chose a new home for her.”
Ruth took a breath. “Elise, it’s not your responsibility. If you want help, I’ll go with you to the police—”
And then, to Ruth’s utter shock, Elise burst into tears. “I’ve been trying to have a baby for years!”
Oh my.
Ruth opened the cabinet and poured herself a glass of water. She was dehydrated. Last night’s indulgence had not left her in good condition for a morning like this.
“Ruth, you have to promise me you won’t tell anyone about the baby,” Elise said.
“Okay,” Ruth said slowly. The last thing she wanted was to get involved in other people’s dramas. “But I’m living in this house for the summer. So you and Fern are going to have to work something out on your own.”
Elise nodded. “You’re right. I have to go talk to Fern. She’s probably wondering where I’ve been all this time.”
She stood up, pushed her chair in neatly under the table, and turned for the door.
“Wait—you’re leaving? The baby is upstairs!”
“Can you just watch her for a bit? I can’t take her to the shop. Please. You’re good with her.”
“Elise, I’m sorry. I cannot be stuck in this house all morning with a baby. I have things to do—”
“There’s a stroller frame with wheels out back. I borrowed it from Amelia. Take her for a walk. I won’t be long. Thanks, Ruth—you’re a lifesaver.”
Oh no. Ruth hadn’t moved out here to be anyone’s lifesaver. Clifford Henry was going to get an earful! She’d had enough of this nonsense. She turned around, looking for her phone, her mind already formulating the message she would leave if she got his voice mail—
The back door banged closed.
Elise was gone.
It was not yet officially summer by the calendar, but the town’s population had clearly shifted from year-rounders only; the seasonal renters had arrived, and the streets were flooded with day-trippers.
Fern was too busy servicing the line of people at the counter to do more than offer a quick smile when Elise walked in the door. She jumped into action beside Fern, filling plastic cups with ice for the iced tea and using the instant hot taps for the rest of the orders.
“You took care of the baby situation?” Fern said, brushing past her on the way to the fridge. They were already out of their pre-sliced lemon wedges.
“Yes,” Elise said. Fern squeezed her hand, and Elise’s gut churned with guilt.
The line began to dwindle. A few customers walked in from the bookstore across the street, but then the shop was quiet.
“We need to refill this,” Fern called, opening a tin that was down to its last few scoops.
Elise nodded. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Hey,” Fern said, walking over to her. “I know it wasn’t easy to hand over the baby. You okay?”
This was it. No more stalling. Elise had to tell her what was going on.
The front bells jingled with the arrival of more customers.
“Wow, wow, wow, you guys—this place is amazing!” Jaci Barros, Lidia and Manny’s daughter, walked in with a look of wonderment. “My mom just told me you were open for business. I had no idea!”
Elise exhaled. A momentary respite from the confession she had to make to Fern.
“Hey there, kiddo. How’s the Ivy League treating you?” Fern said, hugging her.
Both the Barros kids were blessed with their parents’ Portuguese dark good looks and strong work ethic. Marco had the ambition and follow-through to cultivate the oyster farm, and Jaci was the first woman in her family to go to college. And not just any college—Princeton, and on scholarship.
“Let’s put it this way—it’s hard to be back,” Jaci said.
“Oh, you don’t mean that,” Fern said. “And don’t let your mother hear you say it. She missed you so much.”
“I didn’t feel like I was even gone that long, and now this whole amazing situation is up and running. Congratulations—it’s beautiful,” Jaci said, walking over to the shelves of tea tins. “Can I open one?”
“Sure, hon. Look around. Enjoy.”
Jaci unscrewed a lid and peeked inside. “It smells delicious. Like strawberry shortcake.” She looked up at them. “Do you guys need any part-time help?”
“Aren’t you working with your brother this summer?” Elise said.
Jaci rolled her eyes. “I’d rather not. Seriously—anything but the oyster farm.”
Elise and Fern exchanged a look. “Well, you have to talk to your parents about that,” Fern said. “I don’t think they’d be on board with you leaving Marco in the lurch.”
Jaci poked around some more, ordered a green tea that they refused to let her pay for, then left with promises to be in touch about the job situation.
Fern shook her head. “Lidia can’t be too happy about her attitude.”
Elise barely heard her. Her mind raced as she searched for the words that would bridge the giant chasm that lay between them, a chasm only she knew about at that moment.
“Fern,” she said slowly. “I didn’t give up the baby.”