Becca's Baby

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  Dammit.

  “Apparently there’s nothing left to say,” he said, using every bit of self-control he had. What he wanted to do, needed to do, was shout. To tell her what he thought of her and her decision. To tell her how unfair the whole thing was, how helpless he felt. That the baby she was killing was his too.

  Just the thought of what she planned to do made him burn with anger and with grief.

  And yet, because the body that carried his baby was hers, because he believed in a woman’s right over her own body, and because she believed this damn doctor, he held his tongue. Or tried to. The body might be hers. But that baby was his.

  “I was going to tell you about it.”

  “Oh?” he asked, pushing back from his desk to replace some books on the wall of shelves behind him. “When?”

  “I don’t know.” She paused. He could hear her moving farther into the room. His room. “Before I went.”

  “So you’re going to do this.” Just clarifying. Making certain of his facts.

  “I…” She was behind him, too close. “Will, please look at me.”

  He couldn’t.

  His back still to her, he asked, “Have you decided for sure?” He had to know exactly how bad it was. Had to hide how much he hated her at this moment.

  “I feel I don’t have any other choice.” Her voice broke.

  Right along with his aching heart.

  “You always have choices, Becca,” he said. God, he sounded like some pompous school official. Surely, as her husband, he should be supporting her in whatever she felt she had to do.

  But there was no way he could support her on this. She was killing their child.

  She sniffed, twisting his heart a little more.

  “I need you to talk to me about this,” she begged.

  Against his will, he turned around, cringing inside when he read the despair on her face.

  Was it for herself, for their marriage? Or was she suffering, as he was, for the baby they’d tried for twenty years to conceive—the baby she no longer wanted?

  Staring silently, Will couldn’t hold back his frustration and disbelief—his hurt—enough to be civil. Who was she, this woman who looked like his Becca, but didn’t want the baby they’d spent half a lifetime mourning the absence of?

  “Why won’t you talk to me, Will? You can’t ignore me forever.”

  He wasn’t so sure about that. “I can try.”

  “So that’s it?” Her eyes, while filling with tears, were also angry. “You crucify me because I have to do something you obviously don’t agree with?”

  “No!”

  “Then what?”

  He turned back to his bookcase. “This is about far more than you doing something I don’t agree with,” he bit out. “You’re talking about a life here.”

  “You think I don’t know that?”

  “I don’t understand how you can know that and still plan to keep that appointment on Friday.”

  “Then talk to me!” she cried. “Maybe we can help each other here, Will. That’s how we work, isn’t it?”

  Her words struck a familiar chord. Finally, something that was Becca.

  “And,” he continued, unable to stop the flow now that he’d started, “I don’t understand why, the physical risks aside, you don’t want this baby.”

  “I never said—” She stopped.

  Will turned to face her, his eyes shooting the accusation his mouth wouldn’t say. “You didn’t need to.” The words were soft, but still conveyed the anger he was struggling with.

  “Doesn’t it scare you at all?” she asked. “The thought of raising a baby at our age? Of keeping up with midnight feedings? Of having the energy to lug paraphernalia everywhere we go? What if we no longer have the patience to deal with inopportune crying, constant demands and the stress of teaching a child all the things we take for granted? A baby deserves to learn and grow in a loving environment.”

  She’d obviously given this a lot of thought. Perhaps more than he had. Still…

  “We were given this chance.” He told her what he’d been repeating to himself over and over this past week. “I believe that if we’re meant to be parents, we’ll also be granted the strength and wisdom to handle the responsibility.”

  That sounded more than pompous, even to his own ears. And yet, he stood by every word.

  “Perhaps.”

  Becca fell onto the sofa along the opposite wall, tucking her bare feet underneath her. Will joined her there because he was exhausted, not because he felt any need to be closer to her.

  “Did you call Dr. Anderson?” he asked.

  She nodded. “I went to see her today.”

  Will’s heart sank. He’d been hoping the doctor would build Becca’s confidence. Help change her mind about this godawful thing she was considering.

  “And?”

  Winding the bottom of her gown around her finger, Becca stared at the ankle she’d just exposed. He’d always loved her ankles. Didn’t matter where they were, a meeting, out to dinner, church in days gone by, if she was wearing a dress and hose, all he had to do was look at those delicate ankles to get turned on. They were even better at home. Naked.

  “What did the doctor say, Becca?” he pressed. He didn’t want to think about Becca and nakedness. Getting her naked was what had gotten them into this mess in the first place.

  “That I’m higher risk now than when I was twenty.”

  That was to be expected.

  “Did she advise against carrying the baby to term?”

  Not quite meeting his eyes, Becca shook her head. “But she wouldn’t, Will, not knowing how hard we’ve tried.”

  “She would if your life was at risk.”

  Shrugging, she returned her attention to the hem of her gown. “She said I might very possibly miscarry. And if I don’t, we can expect problems with my blood pressure.”

  “Abnormal problems?” He knew a lot of women dealt with blood pressure concerns during pregnancy. Knew, too, that most could be treated simply and safely with medication.

  She glanced up and back down quickly. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  “What else did she say?” He wanted the facts. All of them. If Becca’s life was truly in danger, there was no decision to make.

  “That I’d have to slow down.”

  He refrained from telling her they could accommodate her there. She knew that already.

  “There’s an increased risk of birth defects.”

  “There’s always a risk of birth defects,” he acknowledged, turning cold at the thought. “Even for women in their twenties. But there are tests they can do to determine a lot of these things fairly early on, ways to prevent some of them.”

  He couldn’t deny the frightening possibility that he and Becca might not have a normal child, but there was also every possibility that they would. Women in their forties were having babies—healthy babies—all the time now.

  And if they were meant to be parents, they’d have to take whatever they were given. That was how life worked. He wished they could be guaranteed a perfect baby; who wouldn’t? But nothing in life came with guarantees, not even the certainty of life itself.

  “I’d be willing to bet that if you asked the parents of handicapped children if they’d rather they’d terminated the pregnancy than had that child, most of them would tell you no.”

  She didn’t respond.

  “There’s a chance of kidney or bladder stress, as Dr. Hall said,” Becca’s voice, falling into the silence a minute or two later, jarred him out of his thoughts.

  “A serious chance?” he asked.

  Becca shook her head slightly. “Dr. Anderson didn’t seem overly concerned. It was more that she felt it her duty to warn me, I think.”

  Confused, frustrated beyond anything he’d ever known before, Will stared at his wife, wishing he had access to more wisdom than he possessed. Were they dealing with a normal over-forty birth, or was there a greater risk, something she wasn’t telling h
im?

  And was a normal over-forty birth really too risky?

  But then, why were so many over-forty women having babies? And doing just fine?

  “It sounds to me like Dr. Anderson thinks we could go ahead with this.”

  Becca shrugged, making Will angry all over again.

  “So why is it that you insist on trusting the advice of a doctor you just met rather than the advice of a doctor you’ve been seeing for almost twenty years?”

  “Because maybe, in this case, it took a complete stranger to tell the truth.”

  “Dr. Anderson wouldn’t lie to you.”

  “No.” Becca paused. “But she might be more willing to look for positives.”

  “And that’s bad?” He didn’t understand. No matter how hard he tried, he wasn’t with her at all.

  “I need the bald truth, Will, not a truth messed up with emotions and hopes and dreams.”

  “So…what are you going to do?”

  Her eyes were red rimmed. She’d removed her makeup, and while she still looked beautiful, her fatigue was evident.

  “What do you think I should do?” she asked.

  She knew what he thought. He hadn’t heard anything that made him think having an abortion was necessary. So why did he feel like the bad guy? He was trying to preserve a life here. A very precious, long-awaited life.

  It was an unfair move, turning the tables on him when they were dealing with her body. Her health.

  “What do you want to do?” he countered.

  “I don’t know,” she whispered. A tear dripped slowly down her cheek. “I’m frightened, Will.”

  His heart, even bruised as it was, went out to her. He was tempted to pull her into his arms, to press the advantage she’d just given him and convince her to have the baby he so desperately wanted. But he remained still, his arms at his sides.

  “Do you want the baby?” That was the crux of the matter, he believed. In more ways than one. If she wanted this child, they could investigate the health issues, pursue all the options, assure themselves that the risk was no greater for Becca than for any other woman her age. Hell, pregnancy was a risk for women at any age, but that didn’t stop women from having babies.

  But if she didn’t want it…

  “I don’t know what I want.”

  The words were blunt, honest, ugly—and filled with anguish.

  “I don’t think I’d be a good mother now. I don’t have the patience.”

  “Patience can be acquired.” He was counting on that, certain he had some acquiring to do himself if his middle-aged household was to be taken over by a child. “And you’d be a great mom, Bec. The best. Because you’ve got enough love for at least ten kids. Look how much you enjoy volunteering at the day care. And how much those kids love you.”

  A small tremulous smile spread on her lips, but was quickly gone.

  “Tell me what you’re thinking,” he said. He was clutching at one hope: that the connection that had been between them since childhood still existed. That they could reach each other—and an answer that was right for both of them. That he could somehow understand.

  “I feel so trapped.” Her words weren’t reassuring. In fact, just the opposite. Will’s heart grew heavier with every word.

  “I don’t want to have this baby. I’m afraid something will be wrong with it. And…I’m afraid of dying.” She paused, looked him in the eye, leaving no doubt about the truth of her words. “And I don’t want to not have it, either.”

  “Why?”

  “Doesn’t seem right.”

  “Don’t make this a moral issue, Bec.”

  “How can I not?”

  He was still working on that one himself. “You have to be logical about it.” He prevaricated with the only thing he knew—sound reasoning. “Instead of an abstract issue of right and wrong or things that can’t be weighed or proved, you’ve got to focus on the factual pros and cons and come up with an answer from there.”

  “I’ve spent more than half my life wanting a baby,” she whispered. “If I were thirty, even thirty-five, I’d be ecstatic.”

  “There hasn’t been that much change in the last six or seven years, Bec,” he said. “We’re active, we eat well. We’ve kept ourselves in shape.”

  Becca nodded. And then sat silently beside him for a while longer. She had another whole day before she had to make her decision. He had another day of standing at the precipice of a nightmare from which he couldn’t seem to save either one of them.

  “You coming to bed?” she asked when the wee hours of the morning were firmly in place.

  Because he couldn’t think of a better alternative, Will walked her down the hall to their bedroom, quietly undressed and slid between the sheets. Any other time he would have reached for her, fitting his body snugly around hers, but now he found himself lying flat, instead, staring up at the ceiling. He couldn’t turn his back, but he couldn’t move close to her, either.

  Despite an exhaustion that went much deeper than the mere need for sleep, one fact remained constant in his mind. No matter what Becca decided, a certain amount of damage had already been done. At some point, without his even noticing it, he and Becca had grown apart.

  Not just a little apart. Not something that could be fixed with a bit of attention. He and his wife of twenty years weren’t even living in the same world anymore.

  “MRS. PARSONS! Mrs. Parsons! Sit over here!”

  “No! It’s my turn, Brian! She said she’d sit by me this time. Didn’t she say that, Miss Bonnie?”

  “Yes, Lillie, it’s your turn,” Bonnie Nielson told the precocious four-year-old who not only never forgot a thing, but felt it was her duty to make sure nobody else did, either.

  “She’s gonna wanna hold the babies again. Everyone wants to hold the babies.”

  That was from Brenda. Only four years old and her glass was already half-empty, instead of half-full.

  “We ain’t got none today,” Mick told her pompously.

  “Uh-huh,” little Gwen nodded, her sweet fat cheeks puffed out more than usual with her certainty.

  “Funny Bo is here. They just brung him in.”

  Becca’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of the Down Syndrome infant who was a regular at the day care where she volunteered on Thursday mornings. Only three months old, Bo was clearly a Down’s baby, but it was too early to tell how severely he’d been affected. She, like almost everyone in town who knew the Roberts, hoped that Bo’s case wasn’t severe at all. His parents were just out of high school and were hardly ready to cope with having a first child, let alone a handicapped first child.

  And yet, as Becca finished reading to the four-year-olds and made her way to the nursery to take a peek at Bo, she had to admit that never had a baby been more loved than this one. He was always clean, neatly dressed and almost always smiling. His bag, full of everything a baby could possibly need and then some, was packed fresh every day.

  “He’s a cutie, isn’t he?” Sharlyn, the nursery “teacher,” came over to stand beside her.

  “Yeah.” But how heartbreaking to think of the life that awaited him. Watching him in the crib, his eyes skewed as they tried to focus on the colorful mobile swinging gaily above his head, Becca knew that her decision had been made. How could she possibly bring a baby into the world knowing that she had a better chance than Bo’s mother of having a baby with serious birth defects? How could she knowingly do that to a child?

  “Wanna help with finger-painting?” asked Alice, teacher of the three-year-olds, poking her head in the door of the nursery.

  “Sure!” Turning, relieved, Becca followed the young woman into the loudest room. She needed the noise. And loved the children.

  When it had become obvious, at least to her, several years ago that she wouldn’t be having any babies of her own, Becca had made up her mind to find other ways to bring children into her life. She’d been volunteering at the day care ever since. There, her mothering was lavished on young chil
dren whose own mothers had to go out to work, to earn a living to support their offspring. She liked to describe the arrangement as a kind of partnership parenting. Other volunteers she knew felt the same way. She got to be a parent, and the parents of those children got maternal love and care for their children during the hours they themselves couldn’t provide it.

  And the children—they got the best of both.

  Maybe if Will understood that, he’d understand why Becca was no longer so desperate to have a child of her own.

  BAD KARMA seemed to be following Will. Which was a damn clever feat, since he didn’t believe in it. Problems at home weren’t enough; now he had a potential disaster waiting for him at work, as well. He’d received a couple of reports from different sources, and while he didn’t want to believe there might be any truth to them, he didn’t dare assume their lack of validity; he had to verify it. And then he had to figure out how to kill the rumors before they hurt his colleague and good friend.

  “Todd, have a seat,” he said warmly early Friday morning as Todd Moore, dressed in his usual khakis and polo shirt, approached. Will had deliberately set up this meeting in the diner downtown before classes started for the day. He didn’t want anyone, including Todd, to think this was official.

  Besides, the earlier his meetings, the sooner he could get out of the house and away from Becca. He’d had to leave before she awoke that morning or risk saying something he’d not only regret, but knew would make this day even more difficult for both of them.

  He needed to get out of his house and not think about what today meant. He’d been a father for a brief agonizing week. What a cruel twist of fate.

  He couldn’t believe Becca was doing this to them. He’d tried to put himself in her position, to understand the feelings she was experiencing. So far he’d failed.

  Shaking hands with him, Todd slid his bulk into the bench across the booth from Will. Todd had played football in high school and still worked out a couple of times a week.

  “How’s Martha?” Will asked, perusing the menu even though he always ordered exactly the same thing when he came to the Valley Diner for breakfast.