Sins of Innocence by Jean Stone

glass, peeking through the ball-fringed café curtains. Age had only made Jess look more delicate, in an elfinlike way. Susan bet to herself that when she saw the rest of the woman, her body would be even slighter than it had been twenty-five years before.
    She opened the door.
    “Susan,” Jess said.
    “Jess.”
    They stood assessing one another, Susan conscious of her size as she loomed over the woman by a good eight inches.
    “It’s been a long time,” Jess said. “I’m glad I found you.”
    Susan looked past Jess at the silver Jaguar in the driveway, parked behind Susan’s old Volvo. There was no one in the car. Jess had come alone. She brushed the hair back from her face. “What do you want, Jess?”
    Jess shifted the leather bag on her shoulder. “Could I come in?”
    Susan stepped back from the doorway. “Sure. Of course. Have a seat.”
    Jess walked into the kitchen. She stepped around an overflowing wastebasket and sat at the table. “I see I’ve come on laundry day.”
    Susan laughed. “Trying to get caught up around here. Classes start Monday.”
    “You’re teaching.”
    “English. Literature mostly.”
    “You always liked books.”
    Susan moved the laundry piles to the counter. “I don’t drink coffee. Would you like some herb tea?”
    “Tea sounds fine.”
    Susan filled the kettle, grateful to have something todo.
What the hell does this woman want with me?
She took out two mugs and a tin of French-vanilla tea. “It will just be a minute,” she said.
    “Are you alone?” Jess asked.
    Susan stood at the sink, looking out the window. “Alone now? Or ‘alone’ as in life in general?”
    “Excuse me?”
    Susan sighed. “I have a sixteen-year-old son, Mark. He’s not here right now. He’s in school. I have no husband. We divorced twelve years ago.”
    “So there’s no one in the house but you?”
    Susan twisted around and looked squarely at Jess. “And you,” she said. The teakettle began to whistle.
    Susan turned her back to Jess, poured the hot water into the mugs, and dipped in the bags.
    “I’m glad,” Jess said. “There’s something I’d like to talk to you about.”
    Susan lifted the bags up and down in the water.
Steep, dammit
, she wanted to say out loud.
Steep, so I can sit down, let this woman have her say, and get her the hell out of my house
.
    “I’ll bet you were surprised to get my message.”
    Truly an understatement. “Yes,” Susan answered. She glanced sideways at Jess. The woman was twisting the ring on her finger. God, Susan remembered, she did that when she was—how old?—fifteen, sixteen, something like that. Susan had once felt old enough emotionally to be Jess’s mother. Looking at the nervous woman, she did again. She lifted the bags out of the mugs. Good enough, she thought, looking into the half-brewed liquid. “Sugar?” she asked.
    “No, thanks.”
    Susan scooped the mugs off the counter and placed them on the table. She sat across the table from Jess. As far away as she could get.
    “I’ve decided to find my baby,” Jess said.
    Susan picked up a spoon and stirred in a hefty teaspoon of sugar from the bowl. She didn’t usually take sugar either, but she needed to keep her hands busy. Besides,if she tried to drink from the mug now, she’d probably drop it.
    “What’s that got to do with me?”
    Jess took a sip, then quickly put down the mug. It’s probably still too hot, Susan thought. She probably burned the Estée Lauder right off her lips.
    “I …” the woman stammered, not looking Susan in the eye, “I was wondering if you’ve ever had the same feelings.”
    The knot that had found its way into Susan’s stomach increased in size.
    “I have a son,” Susan said.
    Jess looked into her mug. “So do I. In fact, I have two sons and a daughter. And”—she picked up the mug to try again—“a husband.”
    Susan pushed back her hair.
My
baby, she thought.
David’s baby
. She closed her eyes, trying to envision what he would