drawer in the antique dresser near the door leading to the terrace.
There was another present for Matt hidden inside. A special present.
Katie held it in her hand, and she began to shake again. Her lips quivered, then her teeth started to chatter. She couldn’t
help herself, couldn’t make it stop. She pulled away the wrapping paper and ribbon, and then she opened the small oblong box.
Oh, God!
Katie started to cry as she peered inside. The tears streamed from her eyes. The hurt she felt almost wasn’t bearable.
She’d had something so important and so wonderful to share with Matt that night.
Inside the box was a beautiful silver baby rattle. She was pregnant.
T HE D IARY
Nicholas:
This is the rhythm of my life, and it is as regular and comforting as the Atlantic tides I see from the house. It is so natural,
and good, and right. I know in my heart that this is where I am supposed to be.
I get up at six and take Gus for a long romp down past the Rowe farm. It opens to a field of ponies, which Gus regards with
a certain laissez-faire. I think he believes they’re giant golden retrievers. We eventually come out to a stretch of beach
rimmed with eight- and ten-foot-high dunes and waving sea grass. Sometimes I wave back. I can be such a kook that it’s embarrassing.
The route is somewhat varied, but usually we end up cutting through Mike Straw’s property that has a lane of noble oaks. If
it’s hot or raining, the old trees act as a canopy. Gun seems to like this time of the day almost as much as I do.
What I especially like about the walks is the peaceful, easy feeling I have inside. I think a lot of it is due to the fact
that I’ve taken back my life, reclaimed myself.
Remember the five balls, Nicky—always remember the five balls.
That is my exact thought as I start down the long road that leads home.
Just before I turn in to my driveway, I pass the Bone house next door. Melanie Bone was amazingly gracious and generous when
I first moved in, supplying me with everything from helpful phone numbers to hammers, nails, paint, use of her phone, and
cold, tangy lemonade, depending on the requirement. In fact, that’s how I got my housepainter’s number. Melanie recommended
Picasso to me.
She is my age and already has four kids, God love her. I’m always in awe of anybody who can do that. All mothers are amazing.
Just keeping extracurricular activities straight is like trying to run Camp Kippewa. Melanie is small, just a little over
five feet, with jet black hair, and the loveliest, most welcoming smile.
Did I mention that the Bone kids are all girls? Ages one through four! I’ve always been bad with names, so I keep them organized
by calling them by their ages. “Is Two sleeping?” “Is that Four outside on the swings?” “I think this will fit Three.”
The Bones all giggle when I do this, and they think it’s so silly, they’ve inducted Gus as honorary number five. Lord, if
anyone ever over-heard my system, they’d never come to see Dr. Bedford.
But they do come, Nicky, and I heal, and I am healing myself.
Now listen to what happens next. I had another date with Matt. I was invited to a party at his house.
My little man,
The house outside Vineyard Haven was beautiful, tasteful, impressive, and very expensive. I couldn’t help but be impressed.
As I looked around, the men and the women, even the children, arranged themselves into one demographic group: successful.
It was Matt’s world. It was as if the whole Upper East and West Sides of Manhattan, some smatterings of TriBeCa, and all of
SoHo had been transplanted to the Vineyard. Partygoers were spread across the decks, the stone walkways, and the various gorgeously
furnished rooms that opened to endless views of the sea.
The house was definitely not
me,
but I could still appreciate its beauty, even the love that had gone into making it what it was.
Matt took my arm and introduced me to his