Motherhood is Murder(2)

“Unconscious?” I felt a shiver run down my spine.

Jim pulled out my dining chair. “The captain asked if there was a doctor on board.”

I sat down and let him push my chair in.

We were the only ones at our table. Earlier, we had dined with all the parents from my new mothers’ group: Sara, Helene, Margaret, Evelyn, and their husbands.

We had christened them: Sara was Miss No-Nonsense, Helene was Lean and Mean, Margaret was Tutu, and Evelyn was Preggers. We referred to the husbands as Cardboard Cutout Numbers 1 through 4.

Now, it felt almost irreverent to have given everyone a nickname.

“Where is everybody?” asked Jim.

I shrugged. “Helene, we know about, so her husband is probably with her, right? Wasn’t Margaret’s husband—”

“Alan?”

“Yeah, Alan, isn’t he a doctor?”

Jim frowned. “A podiatrist.”

“Okay. Well, med school and all. Maybe she twisted her ankle. Did you see the heels she was wearing?”

Jim tried to hide his smirk by sipping his beer.

I pushed his shoulder. “What’s so funny?”

“You. We just heard that Helene may be unconscious and you’re worrying about her shoes!”

“I’m not worried about her shoes! I’m wondering what happened to her and where everybody is. I mean, the woman practically kills herself wearing some ungodly high heels, just to please some man, who probably laughed at her—”

Margaret descended the main staircase and closed the distance on our table. I cut myself off despite Jim’s snickers into his beer. She raised her hand in acknowledgment and sat down grim-faced.

“Where’s Alan?” I asked.

“With Helene,” she answered.

I shot Jim a smug look, which he ignored.

“How is she?” Jim asked.

Margaret’s eyes clouded over and she shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know.”

We sat in awkward silence. I perused the other three tables in the dining room. The parties at each table were as somber as we were. The four-hour dinner cruise on the San Francisco Bay had now been delayed indefinitely and nobody looked pleased about it.

Margaret fiddled with a cocktail glass that lingered beside her half-eaten dessert. She lifted the glass and examined the contents. Only two melting ice cubes remained. She stirred them with her straw, hoping, I suppose, to release any vodka that might be clinging to them. After a moment of disappointing results, she returned the glass to the table. Her eyes flicked toward the bar.

“Can I get you anything?” Jim asked.

Margaret flushed. “No. God, no. Thank you.” She picked up her discarded navy cloth napkin and wrung it.

From the main staircase Sara and her husband approached. Behind them Evelyn and her husband were struggling to keep up. Evelyn had one hand on her pregnant belly and the other on her husband’s shoulder. They took their places at our table in silence. The men smelled of cigar smoke and looked relaxed. In contrast, both women had pinched expressions.

Now, there were only three vacant spots at our table. Helene’s, her husband’s, and Alan’s. My eyes fell on Helene’s empty spot. Sara gave me a tight smile, then put her hand on Margaret’s to stop her fidgeting.

“Everything will be fine, you’ll see,” Sara said to Margaret.

Margaret lowered her eyes and nodded.

Suddenly we felt a bump and the ship jostled back and forth. Everyone in the dining room turned toward the sound. Through the starboard window we could see the U.S. Coast Guard vessel had arrived. Crew members were roping the smaller craft to our ship.

The Coast Guard quickly boarded our ship and disappeared out of sight with the crew members.

Margaret cleared her throat and eyed Evelyn. “Does anyone know what happened? I mean, did she just slip or what?”

I had noticed that the woman hadn’t been very chatty with Evelyn throughout the dinner and now wondered what the look Margaret had flashed her might mean.

Evelyn shrugged and returned Margaret’s look evenly. “How would I know? Ask Sara.”

Sara pressed her shoulders back and sat a little taller.

“She was really out of it,” Evelyn continued, rubbing her extended belly. “How much did she have to drink anyway?”

“I didn’t think she had that much, did she?” Margaret asked.

Helene’s empty place seemed to dominate the table. Her dessert plate still held the untouched apple turnover. The ice cream had melted and run over the edge of the plate onto the navy and white place mat. Next to the plate, two drained cocktail glasses loomed, and in the tall wineglass only the stain of red wine remained.

A strange hush settled on our table.

Howard, Sara’s husband, slouched into his chair and casually slung his arm around the back of Sara’s. “Looks like we’re going to be here awhile.”

Everyone at the table looked at Howard, and then followed his eyes to the starboard window. The night and bay were dark except for a troubling light that was converging upon us.

“Oh good!” Margaret exclaimed. “That must be the hospital boat for Helene.”