The Night We Met

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  "I'd rather not tell him yet. Not until we're sure I'm not going to miscarry or anything."

  Not until I could figure out how to break it to my forty-seven-year-old husband that instead of our lives getting easier now that the boys were more self-sufficient, we'd be starting midnight feedings and the terrible twos all over again.

  * * *

  On Christmas morning, when I should've been in the living room, watching my sons rip into their new TI-80s— the calculator that could do everything but print—I was upstairs in the bathroom, throwing up. I'd passed the point where miscarriage was a worry. Had my three-month checkup. And was just weeks away from finding out if I was having another son or a daughter.

  For Christmas Nate had given me airline tickets to Hawaii. A real honeymoon, he'd said, just the two of us. To make up for the trip I'd been unable to take thirteen years before.

  He'd misinterpreted my tears for joy.

  Just before the close of 1982, Time magazine named their Man of the Year—the computer.

  Technology was taking over our lives. And our doctors' offices. As the date for my ultrasound loomed closer, now only two weeks away, I knew I had to tell Nate we were going to have another baby. Too much longer and he'd start noticing, anyway. I'd already gained a couple of pounds. I just prayed he wouldn't be too upset. Or worried.

  Or wish he didn't have such a young wife. A woman his age would not have been in this predicament.

  Lori called to say she wouldn't be able to make it out for New Year's like she'd hoped.

  Nate was really disappointed.

  His buddy Arnold, who hadn't visited us since his marriage years before, had also been planning to come and had to cancel.

  I began the last day of 1982 the same way I'd started every morning of that week—bent over the toilet. Three pregnancies and I'd had no morning sickness. This one was making up for it.

  I retched, waited, sitting on the floor in front of the toilet with my head against the wall, retched a second time and got up. Face washed and teeth brushed, I'd be okay for probably twenty-four hours.

  More if I was lucky.

  Opening the bathroom door, heading for my closet and the first pair of jeans and sweater I could find, I figured I could just about make it downstairs before anyone missed me.

  Deciding between bologna and turkey sandwiches to put in the boys' lunches for their all-day sledding trip with friends, I took one final look in the mirror to make sure there was no evidence of my recent activities, and plowed right into Nate.

  He was standing outside the door, hands on his hips, and not a hint of a smile on his face.

  "Hi!" I squeaked. Damn it.

  A stern look was al I got in response. I crossed to my closet, and he fol owed.

  "Did you run out of oatmeal? I'l be down in a second."

  "Eliza."

  Jeans held in front of me, as though for protection, I turned slowly to face him.

  "When were you going to tell me?"

  Not now. Not like this. I'd been thinking more along the lines of a quiet dinner for two—me in a negligee I could still wear with pizzazz and a little wine for him. Or a lot.

  Or maybe on the ski slope. After a great run. He'd feel ready to take on the world then. A baby might not seem so overwhelming.

  The thoughts raced through my brain.

  "Tel you what?" I asked in a shaky voice.

  What if he didn't want the baby?

  "You've been throwing up for at least a week that I know of. You're pale. You've lost your appetite.

  You've been preoccupied, obviously worried about something. When are you going to tell me what's wrong with you?"

  The breath I'd been holding came out in a rush. He hadn't figured it out, after al .

  "Wrong?"

  "Come on, Liza." He pulled me down to the bed with him, kept my hand firmly in his. "We do things together, right? Everything."

  "Yes."

  "So when were you planning to tell me you're sick? I've waited—and worried—for days, but this can't go on. I don't care what it is, we'll fight it. But I have to know what I'm fighting."

  My dear, dear Nate. I stroked his cheeks, the lines at the sides of his mouth.

  "I'm not sick, Nate. And I'm so sorry I made you worry. I had no idea you'd noticed anything."

  "I notice everything about you."

  Not quite everything.

  "But if you're not sick, then what's—"

  I hadn't suffered from morning sickness with the other three, but that didn't mean Nate was unaware of that particular side effect of pregnancy.

  He stared at me, mouth open, and I knew he understood. What I couldn't tell from his deadpan expression was how he felt about the news.

  "We're having a baby, Nate," I told him, just because it felt like the words had to be said. To lie there between us so we could deal with them.

  "A baby."

  There wasn't even a hint of elation in his voice. None of the excitement I'd been feeling on and off since I found out.

  "In June."

  That would mean three summer birthdays.

  "You're not sick." "No."

  "Thank God." Nate's shoulders sagged and I saw moisture on his lashes as he scooped me into his arms. "I was so scared, Liza," he said with a shudder. "So scared."

  "I had no idea," I whispered.

  He held me for a long time. Kissing me. Looking me over. Giving thanks. Neither of us said a word about the baby.

  * * *

  "I'l need those plane tickets." I turned from the dirty cereal bowls in the sink.

  "What?" The boys had just left in a friend's station wagon; they were going to a sledding park in Denver with four other eleven- and twelve-year-old boys. We could talk freely about the baby.

  Nate picked up his keys.

  "For Hawai . The trip's in April. Obviously you won't be able to go."

  I stared at him. That was all he had to say about the news I'd given him less than an hour before?

  "Can I have them, please? I need to see if I can get a refund."

  "Of course." I ran upstairs, grabbed the envelope from my dresser, brought it downstairs and handed it to him.

  Tapping one end of it against his opposite hand, Nate looked as though he was about to say something, then apparently changed his mind.

  "I'l see you tonight." With a brief kiss that missed my lips, he was gone.

  Twenty minutes passed—the dishes were done and I'd moved on to laundry, before I remembered that, in anticipation of Lori's visit, he'd taken off the week between Christmas and New Year's.

  New Year's Eve came and went, a quiet night at home with our sons, playing games, singing along with

  Nate at the piano and avoiding all reflection on what the next year would bring. I stared at the keys Keith had chipped all those years ago, worrying about this new child. We were al in bed and asleep well before midnight. And a week later Nate still hadn't said anything about the baby. He asked how I was feeling, asked if everything was okay—and that was it. Wanting to give him time to adjust, I didn't push, but I latched on to those oblique references, inferring his love, his concern for me and the baby, his involvement in this unexpected phase of our lives, in those two questions. He repeated them daily.

  He played the piano every night that week. I was falling asleep early, so I wasn't even sure what time he finally came to bed.

  On the fifth day of 1983 Lori called.

  "Eliza? I wanted to tell you first, before Mom or Dad, because I know you'll be happy for me."

  My stomach jumped. "What's up?"

  "I'm married!"

  But we'd just spoken to her a couple of weeks ago! "Married!"

  "That's why I couldn't come and visit you. We used my time off to go to Las Vegas and elope. He's a lobbyist, Liza. I met him during law school. He's handsome and funny and I love him very, very much."

  Grabbing the cloth from the little metal bar beneath the kitchen sink, I rubbed at a spot of missed jel y on t
he Formica countertop.

  "Does he love you?"

  Why hadn't she introduced us when we were in D.C. for her graduation? Or even mentioned that she had a boyfriend? And if they'd known each other for so long, why the sudden urgency? Why a secret wedding?

  "Yes."

  I remembered how my family had reacted to my own marriage. "So tel me about him," I said and decided the rest of the counter could stand a wiping, as well.

  "His name's Wayne Bowing. He's thirty-four. He's got a degree in political science from Harvard and has been working here ever since he graduated. He bought a little house not far from the Hill."

  "Has your mom met him?" "No."

  I moved the canisters at the back of the cupboard, wiped beneath them. And behind them.

  "And you've known him how long?"

  "Four years."

  "What aren't you tel ing me?"

  "He's divorced."

  "So was your dad when I married him." She knew that.

  "As of December 23rd."

  "The December 23rd we had less than three weeks ago?"

  "Yeah. And...he's got three kids."

  "You've been having an affair with a married man with three kids," I said flatly.

  "Yeah."

  Cloth in hand, I dropped into the kitchen chair closest to me.

  "How old are they?"

  "Ages two through seven. Two girls and a boy."

  He'd had a child with his wife since he'd started seeing Lori.

  "Have you met them?"

  "Not yet."

  "How about his parents? Or anyone else in his family?"

  "His folks are flying in this weekend. I'll meet them then. But they know about me," she finished in a rush. "He hasn't been happy in his marriage for years," she said. "He kept trying to make it work, tried to stay for the sake of the kids. But al they did was fight and he finally decided it'd be best for the kids if he left."

  I didn't know what to say. Warnings were too late. Judgment would do no good. And there was no point in sharing my premonitions of her future with a man who made his living convincing people to do things. A man who'd been unfaithful to a woman who'd borne him three children, who'd walked out on that same woman and those kids, who'd kept Lori and their marriage a secret until it was a fait accompli....

  "When do we get to meet him?"

  "I have a three-day weekend coming up in February." She named it. Post-ultrasound. "Can we come then?"

  "Of course." I considered telling her about the baby, but didn't want to without Nate's approval. I hadn't told

  my family or anyone else for the same reason. And— maybe—I was just a little scared to hear their reactions.

  Nate would be in his sixties before this baby reached high school.

  "Eliza? Wil you tell my father about Wayne and me?

  "Don't you think you should do that?"

  "He'll take it better from you."

  I wasn't so sure about that. But their father-daughter relationship was stil new enough, tender enough, to be damaged by a conversation gone awry.

  "I'l tel him tonight, but only if you'll agree to be home so he can cal you."

  "I'l go straight home from work and stay there."

  "When do you plan to tel your mother?"

  "We're meeting her for lunch today. Wayne wanted to be there."

  He rose a notch in my estimation. I just hoped, for Lori's sake, that when we finally met the man, he'd continue the uphill climb.

  And I thought about love—the kind that drove you to throw all rational behavior to the winds and follow your heart.

  "Will he be home tonight, too?"

  "Yes. Eliza? Be happy for me?"

  I half-heartedly began to wipe the spotlessly clean table.

  Chapter 11

  She's been having an affair with this guy practically the whole time we've known her."

  Nate and I were in bed later that night. He lay flat on his back staring up at the ceiling, while I was a good six inches away, doing the same thing. But at least we were talking. "Yeah," I said.

  "It's going to be damn hard to like him."

  I turned my head. "As hard it was for my dad to like your

  He was quiet, so I was, too, thinking back over the evening. He'd sworn some. Paced a bit. And then he'd cal ed his daughter, welcomed his son-in-law to the family and told them both he was looking forward to seeing them the following month.

  I knew how hard that had been for him. And I loved him for it.

  Nate rolled over, his face close to mine, and laid his hand against my stomach. It felt so good there.

  "I'm struggling, Liza."

  My breath caught. "I know."

  "I find out my daughter's married and I'm going to be a father all in the same week."

  "Neither of which was planned or expected."

  "I'm going to be fifty before this baby's even potty trained."

  I reached for his thigh. "You're in better shape than a lot of thirty-year-olds."

  "People are going to think I'm his grandpa."

  "So? When have we ever cared what people think?"

  "I realize how selfish it is, but I was really looking forward to having you to myself."

  And that was the crux of it. I kissed him. And then again. "I'm older now, Nate. Better at organizing my time. I know more. And we'll have the boys to help. They're old enough to babysit."

  His hand strayed to my breast.

  "I won't be so nervous about leaving," I continued. I'd had a lot of time to work things out in my head.

  "And I think we should set up a date night that's sacred. Just you and me, once a week, no matter what."

  His caresses were growing more focused, and my body responded with al the vigor it always had.

  "What if something happens? I almost lost you the last time."

  His fear fed mine. "We'd face that risk whether we were having another child or not," I told him. "We just have to have faith in God and each other to see us through whatever tragedies might come into our lives."

  He kissed me, then murmured, "I love you, Eliza Grady."

  I didn't think about anything but Nate for a long time after that.

  On January 29th, 1983, the movie ET, which had stolen my heart the year before, won at the 40th Golden Globe awards. And Nate and I found out we were having a girl. Another daughter. I was ecstatic. And terrified.

  He was a rock.

  I was a little worried about telling the boys, sure that at the very least, they'd be embarrassed. It took Jimmy a day or two longer to think it through, but in the end, they were both happy that our family was growing.

  "It's kinda cool, isn't it, Mom?" Keith said one day in early February when he and I were alone after school while Jimmy had his piano lesson. "You getting another chance to have a girl. Almost like God understood how much you needed her and wanted you to be happy."

  What was cool was having such a wonderful son and I told him so.

  Lori s visit was pleasant. Nate didn't dislike Wayne as much as he'd expected to, but neither of us liked him as well as I'd hoped we would, either. The man seemed superficial to me, but Lori honestly seemed happy and in the end, that was all that mattered.

  She was thrilled about the baby. Elizabeth, we were calling her. She said she was hoping for a baby of her own, soon.

  Nate and I hoped fate would put that off for a while.

  Elizabeth Mary Grady, with big blue eyes and her daddy's black hair, entered the world on June 15th, 1983.

  This time around, Nate was the one who had difficulty leaving the baby, and we spent the first six months of Elizabeth's life at home. No vacations for us that year. Mom came for the birth and stayed for a couple of weeks. Alice, June, Bonnie and William, with their spouses, all visited at separate rimes that summer, too. Keith celebrated his fourteenth birthday on a white water rafting trip with a friend from school.

  We didn't see Lori, or hear from her quite as often, but so far, she seemed happy. Based on what she sha
red with us, anyway. Thankful y there was no sign of a baby yet.

  Jimmy became a teenager with a swimming and slumber party at the resort, chaperoned by his parents and two-month-old sister, and had the time of his life.

  "Thanks, Mom," Jimmy said the next morning.

  We were gathering the last of his presents from the suite, his long arms and legs gangly as he stood nose-to-nose with me.

  I barely managed to keep from embarrassing him by starting to cry. I hid my emotion in a hug—

  which, surprisingly, he al owed with no squirming.

  Nate turned forty-eight that year and at his annual physical exam, his doctor told him he had the heart and lungs of a much younger man. He played the piano for hours that night, serenading Elizabeth, who was perched close by in her baby seat, with lul abies, coaxing the boys into a rousing sing along of old hits most of their friends wouldn't even recognize, and covering all of my favorites, as well.

  The news added bounce to his step—and renewed passion to our bed. I was nursing, and tired a lot, but eager, too.

  The resort was doing well. My children were robust and healthy. And my husband made love to me at least four times a week.

  I knew that if I'd been able to see everything that would happen in the years after leaving St.

  Catherine's, I would still have done it. Being Nate's wife, the mother of his children, was the perfect life choice for me. I'd found my purpose. My soulmate.

  My life was blessed.

  The fol owing summer, a week before Elizabeth's first birthday, we had a call from Lori. She'd been offered a position at the London branch of a private firm whose home office was in D.C. and would be leaving almost immediately. Her husband would not be going with her. She'd filed for divorce.

  I didn't ask, but I suspected she'd caught him with another woman.

  May 31, 1985 was a day I would never forget. Forty- one tornados hit the northeastern United States, kil ing eighty-eight people. I was glued to the television set in the kitchen while my almost two-year-old precocious daughter climbed up the kitchen drawers she'd pul ed out. By the time I noticed, she was standing on the stove, reaching for the cupboard where I kept a small candy stash for the boys.