What Might Have Been

by Glenda Sanders

  “If we’d bought one more thing, we wouldn’t have fit into the booth with all these bags,” Missy said after they’d ordered their food.

  “We found such pretty things!” Barbara said. “They make such fashionable maternity clothes now, you can hardly tell them from regular clothes.” She looked at Missy inquisitively. “Hey! Why the gloomy face all of a sudden? Don’t you like your new clothes?”

  “Heather’s mom says when I start showing I can still visit Heather at her house, but Heather can’t go anywhere with me in public.”

  Barbara tried not to overreact. “Have you and Heather been friends a long time?”

  Missy nodded.

  “Then what her mother’s doing must hurt your feelings a lot.”

  Missy frowned sullenly. And then, almost explosively, she said, “It’s not fair.”

  “No, it’s not. And I’m sure she isn’t trying to hurt you. She’s just...parents are scared. All the time. And she’s probably trying to protect Heather.”

  “She acts like Heather’s a goody-goody and I’m a slut.” Missy’s bitterness showed.

  “Up here—” Barbara pointed to her temple “—Heather’s mother knows that you’re not a slut. But that just makes her more afraid, because if you’re not a slut and it happened to you, then it could just as easily happen to Heather. She just hasn’t thought about how much she’s hurting you.”

  Missy’s expression remained sullen as the waiter placed their plates in front of them. Barbara waited for the young man to leave, then released a sigh as she picked up her fork. If Heather’s mom had been within her reach at that moment, Barbara would cheerfully have stabbed her with the utensil. But, being the wise, mature person that she was, she corked her fuming temper and forced her voice to be calm. “I’ve always loved the Caesar salad here.”

  Being upset over Heather’s mother apparently did nothing to quell Missy’s appetite. Barbara watched her eat with a secret surge of maternal satisfaction, then urged her to have a scoop of ice cream for dessert while she herself had a cup of coffee. She almost choked on her coffee when Missy confessed, very somberly, “I’ve never had a colored bra before. Except beige. Grandmother said beige is okay.”

  “But she didn’t like teal blue or coral rose?”

  “She says colored underwear is inappropriate for young girls. It’s too provocative.”

  Barbara felt sad inside, but she managed to smile. “Maybe your grandmother just hasn’t noticed what a grown-up young lady you’ve become.”

  Soon she would, Barbara thought. Soon she would....

  * * *

  “HOW OLD IS YOUR MOTHER?” Barbara asked. It was Friday night. Missy had gone to the sneak preview of a new movie with her friends and was going to be staying for the regular showing of a second film. Richard had come to Barbara’s bearing cartons of Chinese food and a video.

  After eating, they’d watched about ten minutes of the movie before a cuddle led to a kiss and a kiss led to the bedroom, where they were now lying, basking in the afterglow of slow, sweet loving.

  “She just turned seventy,” Richard answered. “Why?”

  “I remember her as being older than my mom. I just wondered if she really was, or if I just perceived her that way.”

  Richard pushed up on one elbow and looked down at her face. “Nice try.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean...that question didn’t come out of thin air. You weren’t just idly wondering.”

  “You’re right. Something Missy said made it sound as if your mother might be a little more out of step with the times than a lot of grandmothers. I just wondered if age might be a factor.”

  “It’s not just age. My mother’s always been a little...out of step. She was an old maid, did you know that?”

  Barbara shook her head.

  “She never said so in so many words, but she was over thirty when she married, and you know what it must have been like in a small town back then. My father was almost twenty years older than her. A widower. She had several miscarriages before she had me. It must have astounded them both when she carried me to term.”

  He dropped back onto the pillow with a weary sigh. “It wasn’t so bad when Missy was small, but when she started growing up, they started arguing about things like shaving her legs, using hair spray, clothes.”

  “And you were stuck in the middle.”

  “Yep. Usually defending Missy. When Heather—Missy’s best friend—got her driver’s license, it created real problems. My mother didn’t think it was proper for girls to go out unescorted after dark. She had a dark, abiding fear that Missy might have inherited a wild streak from Christine.”

  “She didn’t tell Missy that?” Barbara asked, appalled.

  “Of course not. We never discussed Christine in front of Missy. Christine inflicted enough heartache on Missy without our adding to it. Missy knew she was a lousy mother. There was no reason she had to know what a lousy wife she was.”

  But she knows, Barbara thought, recalling Missy’s curiosity about her mother. Deciding to change the subject, she rolled onto her stomach, stacked her hands palms down on his chest and propped her chin on the topmost hand so that her eyes met his. “Missy and I had a great shopping trip. What did you think of her new clothes?”

  “The clothes were fine.”

  “We didn’t spend too much, did we?” Barbara asked, sensing displeasure in his oddly clipped reply. “Missy said you didn’t give her a dollar limit, and most of what we bought was on sale.”

  “You didn’t spend too much.”

  “Then what’s wrong?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s a simple enough question. If your jaw was clenched any tighter, I wouldn’t be able to understand what you’re saying. Obviously something about the shopping trip has your dander up.”

  “Do you really think that book was a good idea?”

  “Book?” Barbara had to think a minute before she realized what he was talking about. “You mean the one on prenatal development?”

  “That’s the one. Do you think it was a good idea?”

  “Of course I think it was a good idea. I wouldn’t have bought it if I didn’t think Missy would enjoy having it.”

  “Don’t you think it’s a little cruel under the circumstances?”

  “Cruel? For her to know what’s happening to the baby inside her body?”

  “She might be better off not knowing.”

  “Better off? She has a right to know what’s happening inside her.”

  “The baby she may be giving up for adoption,” Richard reminded her. “The more attached she is to this baby, the harder it’s going to be on her if she makes that decision.”

  Appalled and wounded, Barbara sat up abruptly, yanking the sheet over her breasts and anchoring it there with her arm. She glared at him. “She’s already attached to the baby, Richard. It’s a physical fact. They are connected, sharing oxygen and nutrients. Maybe you can’t fully understand that, but—”

  Richard sat up, too, propped his pillow against the headboard and settled back against it. He folded his arms over his waist belligerently. “Don’t try to turn this into a male-female thing, Barbara. I simply meant that the less Missy focuses on the baby, the better off she’s going to be if she decides to give the baby up.”

  “Well, it’s not so simple, Mr. Voice of Logic! A woman who’s pregnant doesn’t just ‘not focus’ on the child she’s carrying. Her mind may not be focusing, but her instincts are. Did she tell you that she felt her baby move?”

  “No.” His anger had waned, so his reply was soft.

  “We were in the dressing room. She wasn’t sure what it was at first, but it moved again, and we both felt it. Oh, Richard, you should have seen her face. The awe when that little bundle of life moved.”

  “You felt it, too?”

  “Yes. She let me put my hand on her abdomen. It was a special moment. That’s why I bought the book for her—as sort of a celebrat
ion of the baby moving.”

  With tenderness in his eyes, he reached out to cradle her face. “I know your intentions were good.”

  Barbara tensed. “My intentions were good, but...?”

  “God, Barbara, don’t you see what you’re doing? You’re treating Missy’s pregnancy like a blessed event.”

  “Well, someone has to. Obviously you’re not!”

  “Well, excuse me for not stocking up on cigars and putting an announcement in the paper.”

  “No one’s asking you for enthusiasm,” she said stonily.

  A charged silence followed. Finally, Barbara placed her hands on his arms and said intensely, “She’s carrying a child, Richard.”

  “Yes. And you’re so starry-eyed over the idea of pregnancy that you’re blind to the bald reality of this particular situation.”

  “The bald reality?” Barbara echoed faintly, trying to make some kind of sense of his sudden animosity.

  “This situation doesn’t have any happy endings, Barbara. If she keeps the baby, her life is going to be centered around parenthood. If she stays in school, she’s going to be exhausted from trying to take care of the baby and study at the same time. There won’t be any time left for fun. No more sneak previews with her friends, that’s for sure. And dating? Forget it. Guys are going to think she’s a sure thing, but when it comes to commitment—who wants the baggage of a child?”

  He quieted suddenly, as if embarrassed by the frenzy he’d worked himself into. His expression and tone turned defensive. “I know what I’m talking about. I’ve been there. Parenthood isn’t all that pitter-patter of little feet and the joy-of-a-child’s-smile crap.”

  “No one’s saying it is,” Barbara said. “I’m not trying to romanticize motherhood. I’m simply saying that Missy has a child growing inside her, and she has an instinctive attachment to it. The book I bought allows her to see what’s happening to that life as it grows.”

  “Barbara, it’s the kind of book a woman buys when she’s thrilled about being pregnant. Every time Missy opens that book, she’s going to feel a little closer to the baby. Can’t you see that closeness is only going to make it harder on her if she decides to give the baby up?”

  Bile rose in Barbara’s throat and a hot flush colored her face as she suddenly realized that his point was valid. How could her judgment have been so flawed? She’d allowed herself to become so emotionally involved with Missy’s reaction to feeling the baby move that she hadn’t considered the impact the book might have on Missy.

  Groaning, she turned away from him, hugging the sheet to herself.

  “Barbara.” Concerned, Richard extended his arm with the intention of comforting her, but he stopped short of actually touching her. Her naked back and shoulders were just too tempting.

  Finally she spoke, softly. “I was afraid of this. I’m not qualified for a situation like this. I knew I didn’t have the right experience, and I let good intentions cloud my judgment.”

  She twisted so she could see his face. “I thought I’d be able to help because I cared so much.”

  “You have helped Missy.”

  “A counselor’s supposed to be objective. God, Richard, how could I possibly be objective about Missy when I’m sleeping with her father? When we have so much history together? If things had happened differently, she could have been mine.”

  The idea, finally voiced, hung in the air like a cloud of vapor, so compelling that it seemed to almost have substance. Barbara and Richard stared at each other in stunned silence until, shivering involuntarily, Barbara pulled the sheet closer around her. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

  His gaze, sad and regretful, leveled with hers. “Do you think I haven’t thought it? I was catching up on some paperwork at the house the other night and she brought me a peanut butter apple.”

  She was trembling, and this time Richard did touch her, capping her shoulders. The look in her eyes made him feel utterly helpless. “Look, Barbara, I probably overreacted about the book. Missy was thrilled with it. She was reading it when I went in to tell her good-night, the night you went shopping. She showed me a picture of a five-month fetus.”

  Barbara’s voice was flat. “How did you respond?”

  “How was I supposed to respond?” His frustration was evident. “I looked at the picture and said something like, ‘That’s interesting.’”

  He could tell from her eyes that it wasn’t what she’d been hoping for. “My heart was in my throat!” he said defensively. “All I could think of was how devastated she’s going to be if she gives that baby away. And what a disastrous mess the baby will make of her life if she doesn’t.”

  He let his hands slide down her arms. “I don’t have any experience to draw on,” he said. “The only pregnant woman I’ve had any dealings with was Christine, and she was always complaining about puking in the morning, feeling fat, getting stretch marks. She blamed me for everything, every little detail of the curse that had been visited upon her. If there hadn’t been witnesses in the labor room, I think she would have killed me with her bare hands. We never got in an argument that she didn’t throw it up to me what she’d been through because of me. And Missy.”

  “She blamed Missy?” Barbara asked, horrified.

  Richard frowned at the uncomfortable memories he’d dredged up. “Yeah. Well, she didn’t have any books about how babies develop, and she wouldn’t have read them if someone had given her one. So you see, I don’t have any experience with enthusiasm.”

  Barbara put her hand over his. “Next time try focusing on the fact that the baby developing inside Missy is your grandchild.”

  “My grandchild.” He vented his pent-up frustration with a blistering swear word. “I’m thirty-six years old, and I haven’t been young since I was nineteen! I’m not ready for a grandchild!”

  Barbara leaned forward and slid her arms around his neck. A shuddering sigh vibrated through her as she hugged him, trying to absorb his anguish. “Grandchildren don’t ask if you’re ready.”

  They held each other for long minutes. Richard clung to her, wishing he knew how to tell her what she meant to him, what her friendship meant, her fierce loyalty. Gently he pushed her hair aside and kissed her neck, following it to her jaw, dropping a trail of kisses along the way to her face. “Your cheeks are wet,” he said.

  “My heart is breaking for you and Missy.”

  His arms tightened around her and he lay back, pulling her with him. He soothed her, stroking her hair, kissing the top of her head while her tears spilled onto his chest unabated.

  The sheet had shifted, and her breasts pressed into his ribs. He folded his knee and draped his leg across hers possessively. Their closeness was not sexual; it was the embrace of two human beings who needed human contact, needed to mingle their troubled hearts, soothe each other’s souls.

  Minutes swelled into half an hour before either of them found the will to disrupt the silence. It was Barbara who spoke. “Have you and Missy talked about the baby?”

  “I’ve helped her take care of everything so far. The doctor, the lawyer. You, when she applied for home study.”

  “It’s obvious that you’ve taken care of business. The question was, have the two of you talked about the baby? About her choices, and the pros and cons of each.”

  Richard covered his face with his hands and sighed. “No. Okay? I’ll admit it. We haven’t had a specific talk! If that makes me a bad father or unsupportive, I’m sorry.”

  “I wasn’t criticizing you.”

  “I’ve had enough trouble just dealing with the fact that she’s pregnant. I haven’t moved far enough beyond that to think about a baby. Up to this point it’s been an abstract. Maybe it is a male-female thing. I’ve been caught up in the complications having a child would entail, and she’s reading books about prenatal development.”

  “It’s a parent thing more than a gender thing,” she said. “You’re looking at long-term ramifications and Missy’s more involved in the immediat
e situation. That’s typical.”

  She pushed up on one elbow so that she could see his face. “You and she need to talk and work out some ‘what if’ scenarios.”

  “What if?”

  “What would happen if she kept her baby? What would happen if she gave it up? It’s very reassuring to detail options. It’s like knowing that whatever happens, you’ll be prepared instead of surprised.”

  “What kind of details should we discuss?”

  “The more specific, the better. Where would a baby sleep? What are the child care options while Missy is at school? What responsibilities would you expect Missy to assume in terms of supporting the baby? How would having a baby influence her choice of colleges?”

  He was looking at her strangely. “What?” she asked.

  “You’re remarkable,” he said. “Just zip, boom, pop, and you’ve got a list of questions.”

  She smiled, pleased that she had impressed him. “It’s part of my job. You could probably zip, boom and pop me information about financing a house or which end of town offers the best elementary schools.” She paused. “How did the subject of adoption come up?”

  Richard shook his head. “To be honest, I hadn’t even thought that far before the attorney who prepared the surrender papers for the father said that if the father signed, it would clear the way for Missy to put the child up for adoption. He said people call him all the time looking for newborns and that if Missy—” He swallowed. “When I told her what he’d said, Missy said her doctor had told her the same thing.”

  “Ironic, isn’t it? So many girls pregnant when they don’t want to be, and so many women yearning for children they can’t have. Doctors and lawyers arrange adoptions like stockbrokers selling over-the-counter stocks.”

  “The lawyer said there’s a long waiting list for healthy white infants through public agencies.”

  “Years,” Barbara said, then searched Richard’s eyes. “You think it’s the best option for Missy, don’t you?”

  He pondered the question before replying. “Missy would have her life back, some couple would have a baby they truly want, and the baby would have a loving home. It sounds so tidy.”