Read Online The Irresistible Henry House by Lisa Grunwald - Free Book Online Page A

remembered offering Helen House, just after her second birthday, back to the orphanage, in exchange for a younger baby—and the thrill of knowing that Helen would be raised by a married couple who would prize an infant launched with all the latest and best methods. Tom Gaines had been courting her then, wooing her, attending her, and the whole world had seemed bright with certainty and safety: a home, a job, a mission, a man.
    Martha realized that Helen House was now twenty years old. That tiny, woebegone infant, around whom an entire academic institution had been started, and a career launched, was now old enough to be a student here herself. Which made Martha—what?—ancient, irrelevant, done.
    IT TOOK A FULL TWO WEEKS to get an appointment set up with Dr. Gardner, but the meeting was finally scheduled for the Tuesday after Thanksgiving, and until then, Martha avoided Irena’s calls as assiduously as the president had seemed to be avoiding hers.
    For the holiday weekend itself, as she almost always had, Martha sent all the practice mothers home and cared for the baby herself.
    The night before Thanksgiving, Martha put Henry to bed and then sat downstairs, listening to Burns and Allen, then to Jack Benny, then the news. A Communist rally in Connecticut had been broken up when a group of veterans started stamping their feet and singing “God Bless America.” And Harry Truman, apparently, had come up with the idea of pardoning a turkey that would otherwise have been served the next day at the White House.
    Martha darned a pair of socks as she listened. The house was quiet in the absence of a practice mother, but this was nothing like the silence that overcame the place when days or weeks went by between House babies. That was a silence of barrenness, of loss, a silence so deep that it made Martha want to move around to fill up empty spaces. This silence—with Henry sleeping just yards away—felt something more like peace.
    Martha sat in the chair till nearly midnight, rehearsing in her mind the conversation she would have with President Gardner after the weekend was over. What she would ask him for. What he would say. How she could keep from ever having to face that other silence.
    WHEN THE PHONE RANG on Thanksgiving afternoon, Martha at first thought she would ignore it. She reasoned that it could only be a wrong number, or someone trying to urge her to participate in some local food drive, or—worst case of all—Irena, with her menacing holiday spirit. On the sixth ring, however, Henry said, “T-t-t-t. T-t-t-t. Tel-lie. Pickee up.” And Martha, following his instruction, was nearly astonished to hear President Gardner saying hello.
    “I was thinking,” he said, “that we might have our chat today.”
    “Today?” Martha repeated. “On Thanksgiving?” she asked.
    “I’m sorry,” he said. “Did you have other plans?”
    “No, it’s just that—well, I’m alone with the baby today. The girls are all home for the holiday.”
    “Why don’t you bring the little fellow along?”
    IT DIDN’T OCCUR TO MARTHA until she was seated on the couch in the president’s house an hour later that, like her, he would be alone today. There were no warm oven and gravy smells wafting from his kitchen, which, in fact, was completely dark. The dining room table—also visible from the living room—had clearly not been the scene of any festive celebrations. But unlike Martha, President Gardner no doubt had been served a Thanksgiving dinner at the home of some faculty member who was trying to curry favor with him.
    “Did you have a nice Thanksgiving?” Martha asked him.
    “Very nice, yes, thank you. The Haywoods had me over this year. Very kind of them.”
    “Yes,” Martha said. “Well, Henry and I had a lovely time, too.” Together their eyes fell on the little boy, who was sitting on the floor, zooming his red fire truck over the clean beige carpet, then using his hand to sweep away the parallel tracks left by the