Naturally, five hours later they were speeding down Route 2 toward Boston.
"Breathe easy, honey, and drive very carefully," he said.
"I am breathing. Bob. YouWe driving. So calm down."
He drove, but he could not calm down. By the time they reached the Lying In, his stomach cramps were synchronized with her labor pains. She squeezed his hand as he helped her from the car. "It's gonna be okay," she said.
In the labor room he timed her contractions and wrote them down. Through every one of them he tightly held her hand. Sometimes he stared up at the clock because he couldn't bear the sight of her in pain. She was so brave.
"Bob, you're a great coach," Sheila whispered.
As they wheeled her down the corridor he kept her hand in his.
"This is the home stretch, honey. Now I know we're gonna make it." Which was meant to tell her that he didn't think he'd faint.
She bore down when Dr. Selzer told her to, and soon a tiny head appeared.
Blinking from the glaring lights. Bob looked at it, half in the world, half still cocooned in Sheila.
Oh, my God, he thought, it's really happening. Our baby's real.
"Congratulations," Dr. Selzer said. "YouVe got a perfect little girl."
Since they had long ago decided on the names, she whispered to her husband through her tears.
"Oh, Bob, it's Jessica."
"She looks like you," he said. "She's beautiful."
He kissed the mother of his child.
-E MADE HIS BED HIMSELF.*'
An enchanted Paula was reporting to her mother the next morning.
"That's nice/' Sheila answered, somewhat less impressed, ''but what exactly do you find so amaz-ing?"
"I was gonna do it for him."
"'Really? Well, now that's unusual. You hardly ever make your own."
"I do too."
"Under duress."
" Whaf s 'duress'?"
"Under pressure," Sheila Beckwith said by way of definition.
There were five of them at breakfast. Sheila fought to suppress the anger that she felt
"Did you sleep well, Jean-Claude?" she asked.
"Yes, thank you, Mrs. Beckwith."
He was looking wistfully into his chocolate milk.
"Are you still hungry?" Sheila asked. "Is there something more you'd like?"
"No, thank you. That is . . ."
"Don't be shy," said Sheila.
61
*'Well, at home we would driak coffee in the morning."
''Really?" Paula gasped, in awe of this sophistication.
''Of course/' said Sheila. "I should have aslced." She got up to get him some. He looked relieved and offered her his glass of chocolate milk in exchange.
"Today we're going to a barbecue/' said Jessie. "Do you know what that is, Jean-Claude?"
"I think so."
"It's like a cookout," Paula added.
^'Oh," said Jean-Claude. He seemed intimidated at the prospect. More strange new faces, he was doubtless thinking.
Paula continued enthusiastically. "There'll be hot dogs and hamburgers and com on the cob with melted butter."
"Paula, you sound like a commercial for McDonald's," Jessie said sarcastically.
"Do you know what McDonald's is?" Paula solicitously asked Jean-Claude.
"Yes. It is a restaurant in Paris. I have eaten there."
The Peugeot was crowded as they all embarked for Truro, and the seaside home of Bernie Acker-man.
"He's been my pal since we were just about your age," said Bob to Jean-Claude, at whom he intermittently glanced through the rear-view mirror.
"He's a crashing bore," said Jessie. "All he ever talks about is sports."
"Jessica, behave yourself," said Bob sternly.
"He's a sportsman?" Jean-Claude asked, his interest piqued.
"Bernie is a lawyer," Bob explained. "He represents a lot of big-league athletes. Baseball, hockey, football-"
'Tootball?" Jean-Claude's eyes lit up.
*'The American version," Jessie said disdainfully. ^'The breaking of empty heads.*'
Bob gave an exasperated sigh.
As they reached Home Plate, the sign for Bemie's place, it suddenly occurred to him that his wife had not said a word during the entire ride.
Sheila gazed at the kinetic patchwork quilt of T-shirts, jogging suits and summer dresses, and wondered if the friends she was obliged to greet with smiles would notice her unhappiness. Fortunately, everybody seemed preoccupied—sunning, tossing Frisbees, drinking, laughing, grilling, yelling at their children not to throw food. It was not a day for psychic scrutinizing. Probably she'd pull it off. At worst they'd think it was the lunar blues.
Bemie was the first to notice their arrival. He tapped Nancy on the shoulder and hurried toward them.
"Beckwith! Did you bring your catcher's mitt?"