The Swallow's Nest. Emilie Richards
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were still in evidence. Crumbs on the floor, dishes on the dining room table, a congratulations sign hanging askew. Clearly Lilia wasn’t here. Ellen’s daughter-in-law loved order. Whether Ellen liked Lilia’s design ideas or not, the house was always picture perfect. Never fussy, but comfortable and welcoming. Anything that looked out of place was meant to be.
She followed Graham through the house, through a kitchen piled with dirty dishes, and into the sunroom. She thought the room must have been an addition because she didn’t remember it from her last visit. It was small but flooded with light, and the tropical-style furniture, old-fashioned rattan with a glass table on a coral stand, probably made Lilia feel right at home. She picked up a floral cushion from the floor and placed it on the love seat before she sat.
Graham dropped down to a chair in the corner and closed his eyes. He looked so beaten. She searched for something to say.
“You cried for the first three months of your life. Even a professional baby nurse wasn’t sure what to do with you. And me? I felt so completely inept. It seemed like I should know the magic key, that you should have emerged with instructions. Everybody told me not to worry, that crying was normal, but I was sure it was my own fault. Something I’d eaten in pregnancy, a glass of wine I had before I realized you were on the way. Bad genes.”
At that he opened his eyes. “Really? Bad genes? I thought the Randolphs and the Grahams were perfect in every way, that you and my father thought I was some sort of genetic mutation.”
“Not even close to being perfect.”
“There’s nothing you can do here to help. I have to deal with it. I brought this on myself.”
“Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”
“Why?”
“Maybe there’s something I can do.”
“Unless you can zoom back in time and keep me from acting on the worst impulse I’ve ever had, then no.”
“You had an affair?”
He gave a bitter laugh. “Nothing that interesting. A one-night stand. Right between what sounded like a death sentence and chemo.”
“Oh, Graham...” She didn’t know what else to say.
“Toby is the result. As you can imagine, Lilia is not happy about it.”
“She’s gone?”
“In Kapa’a with her family. I don’t know if she’ll be back for more than packing and shipping.”
She wanted to be angry at Graham’s wife. He was still recovering, and Lilia had abandoned him to handle everything on his own. But how could Ellen fault her? For the past year her daughter-in-law had shouldered every possible burden, with no help from anyone except the long-distance support of her own family.
“Did you really think you could keep the baby a secret from Lilia? Or were you waiting until you felt you could cope with the fallout?”
“I don’t know, Mother. I was trying to stay alive. Half the time I was so sick I couldn’t remember where the bathroom was.”
“And you were ashamed. You’re a good man. You would be.”
“You have no idea what this kind of shame feels like.”
She did, but it wasn’t helpful to admit that now. She was saved from trying, because a wail began somewhere in the distance. She put out her hand when Graham started to rise. “He’s upstairs?”
“A friend gave me some kind of contraption for him to sleep in. He’s in our room.”
“I’ll get him.”
“Do you know what to do?”
“Has it changed that much in thirty years?”
“Did you know what to do then?”
The question should have hurt, but both of them knew that Graham’s childhood had been managed by competent professionals, and she had looked on from the sidelines. “I do know how to change a diaper.”
“I think he looks like me.”
“Then he’s a beautiful baby.”
“He should have dark hair and brown eyes like the mother I didn’t give him.”
“I’ll bring him down. Will he need a bottle?”
“I’ll get one ready.”
The upstairs must have been expanded in her years away because the wail was coming from a room she didn’t remember. She followed the sound, opened the door and saw a small mesh-sided crib beside a queen-size bed. She picked up a beautiful hand-stitched quilt from the floor and folded it carefully, setting it on a chair before she dared go to the baby.
And then it was like looking at the infant Graham again.
She reached down and scooped him up, holding him against her breasts. Time stood still, although the baby didn’t. He arched his tiny back and screamed, just the way his father had.
“Well,” she said when she could speak, “Hello, Toby. I’m your grandmother.”
The baby was not impressed. She laughed. “I know. I know!” She looked around and saw a box of diapers on the floor. She set him carefully in the center of the queen bed, grabbed a baby blanket from the floor and tucked it under him before she stripped off his little footie pajamas, then took out a diaper. He screamed as she changed him, but she hummed loudly, and she thought that the screaming paused from time to time as he listened.
His clothes were dry, so she pulled them back on and folded the blanket snugly around him until he looked like a burrito. She smiled and kissed his forehead. “Let’s get you something to eat.”
Downstairs she found her son with a bottle ready. “When was the last one?” she asked.
“When he was hungry.”
“They always seem hungry when they’re screaming, but overfeeding can cause problems, too.”
“So I’m told.”
“Good. You have help?”
“I have a few friends who are still speaking to me, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“The baby’s mother?”
“Is not among them.”
“You haven’t spoken to her?”
“She won’t take calls or texts from me. She probably feels like she’s on vacation.”
He stretched out his arms, but she shook her head. “Let me.” She held out a hand for the bottle. He shrugged and gave it to her.
She settled Toby into her arms, propping him carefully because she remembered being told that keeping the head high might help. Toby sucked at the bottle’s nipple like he hadn’t been fed in weeks.
“He’s beautiful, and yes, he looks remarkably like his father. I never quite knew what to do with you, but I did appreciate what a gorgeous little boy you were.”
“Why did you have me?”
“It’s complicated.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
It took her a while to answer. Toby had taken enough formula that she decided to burp him, despite his protests. Frequent burping was something else she remembered. “I wanted to feel connected to somebody. I saw women with their husbands and children and knew they had something I didn’t. Your father was always busy—”
“Not to mention rigid and controlling.”
“Let’s not talk about that.”
“Why start now?” He closed his eyes again.
“I believed having you would make