Summer of '69(93)

“Oh yeah?” he says. “Your husband?”

Angus? she thinks. No.

The person missing is Kirby.



Blair is in labor for eighteen hours, which sounds grueling, although, truthfully, it’s only the beginning and the end of labor that are challenging. The contractions come fast and hard until Dr. Van de Berg arrives and instructs the nurse, Myrtle, to give Blair something to make her “comfortable.”

“Here comes your glass of wine,” Myrtle says as she shoots something into Blair’s IV.

She’s in twilight sleep much of the night. She wakes up at dawn when the nurse tells her it’s time to push.

Kate is there at the bedside and Jessie is sitting on a stool in the corner of the room. This would never be allowed in a big-city hospital, Blair knows, but she’s glad they bend the rules here a little. Jessie is wearing a surgical mask, which looks so funny on her that Blair actually laughs.

Dr. Van de Berg reappears in blue scrubs. “Who wants to have a baby or two?” he asks. He checks Blair and says, “The first baby is crowning, Blair. Bear down.”

This is happening. Blair is overcome with emotion. She is going to have a baby, two babies. She is about to create a family, right here, right now, on July 16, 1969, the same day that man will head to the moon. Angus must be consumed by the imminent launch, checking and rechecking calculations, in constant contact with Cape Kennedy. He will have no idea that on an island thirty miles from the Massachusetts shore, his children are about to enter the world.

“Push, Blair, push,” Dr. Van de Berg says.

Blair pushes.

“Again,” Dr. Van de Berg says.

“Push, darling,” Kate says. Blair looks at her mother. Kate’s hair is in its usual chignon; there are pearls at her neck; she’s wearing a peach dress. She has an iron grip on Blair’s hand, and Blair can feel Kate passing her her strength, gifting her her fortitude. Blair knows her mother endured this, and Nonny before her, and Nonny’s mother, Mimi, before her, and so on and so on. Blair hopes Jessie is watching so she learns that all women are strong and miraculous.

Strong, Blair thinks. Miraculous.

“It’s a girl!” Dr. Van de Berg says. “She’s perfect.”

A girl! Blair thinks, and her heart soars. Jessie is on her feet, her eyes wide, her fists clenched with nerves or joy. Kate sniffs, wipes a tear.

“My granddaughter,” she says.

Dr. Van de Berg hands the baby to Myrtle as though it’s a loaf of bread he pulled from the oven. “We aren’t finished,” he says. “You can take a couple of deep breaths until we’re ready to go again.”

Blair turns to her mother. “I bought outfits.”

“Miss Timsy brought them up to the house,” Kate says. “Along with three bras for Jessie. Thank you for handling that. I meant to do it—”

“Here we go,” Dr. Van de Berg says. “The head is crowning.”

“I’m wagering on another girl,” Myrtle says. “Probably identical.”

“Push,” Dr. Van de Berg says.

Blair bears down.

Kate squeezes her hand. “You are such a champion, darling.”

Blair lets a great moan go as she pushes with all her might.

“Again, please,” Dr. Van de Berg says.

“I can’t,” Blair whimpers.

“You can, darling,” Kate says. “Come on, now.”

Blair pushes again and she feels a loosening, a lightening.

“It’s a boy,” Dr. Van de Berg says, his voice jubilant. “A beautiful baby boy. You have a girl and a boy, Mama. A son and a daughter.”

Blair bursts into tears.



Telegram to Dr. Angus Whalen, Mission Control, Houston, Texas Genevieve Foley Whalen 6 lb 2 oz born 6:38 a.m.

George Nichols Whalen 5 lb 14 oz born 6:44 a.m.

Mother and babies doing fine.





Two hours later, after the babies have been cleaned and swaddled and after Blair has delivered the placentas and been stitched up and after Blair has successfully latched each baby to her breasts for the first meals of their lives, Blair asks to see a TV. It’s almost nine a.m. The launch is supposed to take place in half an hour.

Myrtle frowns. “Don’t you want to sleep?”

“My husband is an astrophysicist,” Blair says. “He has been working on this mission for years. That’s why he’s not here. He’s in Houston, at Mission Control.”

“Hold on,” Myrtle says. She disappears down the hall and returns a few minutes later holding a small boxy black-and-white TV, which she sets on the table at the foot of Blair’s bed.

“This is the TV we keep in the nurses’ station,” Myrtle says. She plugs it in and fiddles with the antennas until the picture becomes clear—Cape Kennedy in Florida and the thousands of people who are attending the launch. There are phots of the three astronauts—Neil Armstrong, Buzz Aldrin, and Michael Collins—on the screen and Blair gets chills. She wants to announce that although those gentlemen are going out into space, there are lots of other people who made it possible—among them Dr. Angus Whalen. The happy drugs are definitely working because, after a quick self-inventory, Blair doesn’t find a hint of anger or resentment toward Angus for missing the birth. He was busy doing his job while Blair did hers. This isn’t a feminist position, she knows, but she can’t be moved to care. She has twins! A matched set! A daughter and a son. When Dr. Van de Berg said, “Good job, Mama,” he was referring to her, Blair. She’s the mama!