by Naomi Niles
I was in shock, staring at the closed door and my mind whirling with the realization of what had just happened. I felt sick and ran for the bathroom in the corner of the bay. I lost whatever I’d eaten that was still in my stomach and finally emerged, a wet cloth over my forehead and feeling as though my world was about to end.
“Why didn’t you speak up?” I confronted Bob. “You know how I feel about him. I thought you were okay with helping me out of this mess?” I accused him. I still felt ill and was tempted to head back to the bathroom, but instead swayed with the enormity of the mess I was now in.
“You seemed to have said it all,” he shrugged. “I think your Sean is a bit of a hothead, myself,” he added, flicking an invisible fleck off his coat. “I don’t know why he overreacted like that. It’s not like he caught us in bed, you know.”
I stood there with my mouth open, unable to believe what I was involved in. “Bob, you agreed to this charade. Please, don’t ruin this for me now.”
A look of compassion came over his face. I must have looked pitiful, standing there with my wet cloth and shaking knees. “Hey, you look awful. You okay?” he asked, moving toward me.
“I’m upset! Why shouldn’t I be? You know what’s going on here and this whole thing is a sham. I’m feeling guilty for lying to Dad, feeling a little guilty that I’m asking you to get involved in this, and really, really guilty about what Sean thinks he just witnessed. What the hell have I done here?”
“Just off hand, I’d say you’ve gotten yourself in a bit of a pickle, my dear Gwyne,” he smirked and I knew he was enjoying my embarrassment. Bob’s appearance may have changed, but he was the same guy inside. He’d always been a little too self-serving for my preferences, but then I had to admit that I was pretty much the same and maybe that’s why we’d gotten along so well. We were two birds of a feather. “Hey, c’mere,” he said, walking toward me. He took the cloth from my hand and dabbed at the corners of my mouth. “You up to this dinner thing? If you’re not, I’ll just pop out and get us something to eat in and we can go upstairs to that cozy, little apartment and watch a movie until you calm down.”
I realized with horror that his suggestion sounded wonderful. I knew why, though: it was retreat. I wouldn’t have to deal with Dad and Carla and the inevitable list of questions they would throw out. At the same time, I could forget about Sean, temporarily, and just be coddled. God, but I felt awful and coddling seemed terribly tempting at the moment. I reached down into my gut and found whatever bit of integrity still remained there, though. “No, no… I’ll be fine. Let’s just get this over with, shall we?” I pulled away and picked up my bag and coat I’d brought down with me. “Let’s just go to Dad’s and as soon as dinner is done, help me make some sort of excuse and we’ll leave, okay?”
He nodded, but I could tell he guessed I wasn’t all that opposed to his suggestion. Perhaps it gave him a thread of hope, but he moved toward me and extended his arm good-naturedly. “M’lady?” he mocked, nodding toward the door where Sean had just left. “Shall we?”
I nodded and flipped off the lights as we left. I felt like a prisoner headed for the electric chair.
Chapter 26
“Nice to see you again, Bob,” Dad greeted him, dressed in a white shirt and dress slacks. Dad looked the best I’d seen him yet since his recovery. He was obviously reclaiming his personality as well. “I began to think Gwyne was making all this up,” he added, and then introduced Carla.
I stood in the background, miserable with the events of the day so far. I had this sense of impending doom that it was only going to get worse.
“Gwyne has always been a bit of a rascal when it comes to you, sir,” Bob said, throwing gas on the smoldering fire that was my misery.
“Oh?” Dad asked, curious, and instantly his eyes were on me. I felt ill again and moved toward the bathroom, out of the room where the smell of dinner was getting to me. “Where are you going, Gwyne?” Dad asked, putting a stop to my flight path.
“Just going to wash my hands before dinner,” I improvised and knew that would make Dad even more suspicious. I had never been one to wash my hands before dinner, a fact that always made Dad peeved with me. It had long been a sensitive stand-off between us. He had, my entire life, ordered me to the bathroom to wash my hands and I, knowing that he couldn’t pursue me in there to inspect, had always turned on the water and pretended. Dad knew, however, and we both tacitly agreed silently that he couldn’t prove otherwise so it was a subliminal battle ground for the both of us.
I made my way to the bathroom before he could object and I could hear their conversation from the next room. Dad was saying, “Bob, can I get you a little wine before dinner?”
Bob must have nodded because the conversations stopped then and when I emerged from the bathroom, Dad was handing a goblet to Bob and another to Carla. “Gwyne? Some wine?” he offered.
I shook my head. “No, thanks, Dad. I’m a little under the weather and will skip it,” I told him and his eyebrows rose.
“Nothing contagious, is it?” he asked suspiciously. “You know, the doctor said I need to watch out for viruses – my immunity still isn’t back to where it should be.”
“No, nothing like that, Dad. I’ve just been working long hours and not sleeping much. I’m fine. Nothing for you to worry about,” I reassured him and saw Carla smile.
We went in to dinner shortly thereafter and Dad seemed oblivious that Bob wouldn’t care to hear the details of his operation as dinner conversation. Bob continued to smile surreptitiously at me from over his plate of roast beef and mashed potatoes. I didn’t know why, but Bob’s behavior was getting on my nerves. I supposed it was because with each second that passed by, I felt I was digging myself in deeper and deeper with Dad. That bothered me. A lot. I let Dad go on about his gory details, however, as it took the spotlight, and any sticky questions, off of me.
Carla seemed oblivious as well and I could tell she was more concerned with the meal she’d cooked and whether she was doing a good job as hostess. She moved between the table and the kitchen smoothly, producing bowl after bowl of tempting food. I took a small spoon of everything that was offered and pushed it around on my plate. I had no appetite, but didn’t want to offend her. I couldn’t wait for the day to end so Bob would take me home and I could crawl into bed and recover from what this nightmare had become. I was trying not to think of Sean, otherwise I knew I’d start crying right there at the dinner table.
Dad finally ran out of hospital stories and began to ask Bob about his job. I listened with half an ear in case any question was directed to me and to cover for any way that Bob might blow our cover. Dad started in on politics then and while I didn’t pay attention to the details, it wasn’t going well. Dad seemed to be raising his voice and his hand was gesturing; Bob, it appeared, was giving him a heavy dose of opposition and enjoying it. I threw Bob a look to shut up and not aggravate Dad and he picked up on it, and while he closed his mouth, I could see the disapproval all over his face. I didn’t care.
The nightmare finally drew to a close with the arrival of a Dutch apple pie from the kitchen. Again, I passed on anything more than the slimmest slice. “I’m starting to put on a few pounds with the winter lack of exercise,” I made my excuse and while Carla looked disappointed, she immediately turned her attention to spoiling Dad. Unless you knew better, you’d think they were married and had been together from the beginning. I missed my mom with a pang and knew I was completely in a funk.
“Let me help with dishes,” I offered weakly, standing to gather plates even before people were done.
“No, no, let me do that later,” Carla immediately popped up. “That will give me something to do while your dad takes his nap,” she explained.
His nap. Yes, that was my cue to leave as soon as Bob put that last bite of pie down his gullet. He and Dad had fallen silent, both pretending to be involved in the pie when I could feel the tension in the atmosphere. Bob must have said something that pi
ssed Dad off, the glowering look on my dad’s face spelling out the anger he was submerging.
It was all for the best, however, since as soon as the pie was gone, Bob pushed away his plate and shoved back his chair. Dad didn’t offer a single word of protest. Carla offered coffee and Bob refused with a wave of his hand. “I think our girl here is a little under the weather and I should get her home so she can nap,” he improvised, and despite my irritation with him, I could have kissed him at that moment. Maybe he wasn’t as dense as he pretended to be.
I immediately pushed back my chair and kissing Dad on the cheek and giving Carla a peck, I made my exit. “Thank you for a wonderful dinner, Carla. It was absolutely delicious. Dad, I’ll see you later this week,” I said, sliding into the sleeves of the jacket Bob held for me. Dad raised his hand in acknowledgement to me and Carla smiled supportively. Evidently she realized the men had crossed swords as well.
Bob took me back to my firehouse and I made a point of stopping in the doorway. “Bob, thank you for doing this. It was a lifesaver. I’ll try not to ask it of you again,” I told him.
“How about I walk you up and tuck you in for a nap?” he offered suggestively.
I shook my head. “No, no, I’m fine. Thanks again and I’ll call you this week. I’m sorry I’m not being more gracious for all your effort, but I really want to lie down,” I finished, backing up from the doorway and beginning to close the door.
“You’re sure?” he offered again.
“Yup. Bye, Bob,” I said, closing the door gently, but quickly. I turned and faced into the bay, tears spurting from my eyes in misery as I thought about Sean. I picked my way upstairs and pulled off my clothes as I headed to the bed, letting them fall where they may. I fell into my bed and drew the covers up around my ears. I didn’t care who or what happened from that point on as I withdrew into a miserable, fetal position and went to sleep.
I knew what was bothering me.
I was pregnant.
Chapter 27
The next morning, nausea awakened me and I barely made it to the bathroom. The dinner from the day before left me and I sat on the floor, a wet cloth over my face in misery. How could everything have gone to Hell so quickly?
When the spasms eased and I could stand again, I staggered back to the bed and lay down, my thoughts swirling. I had plans to make and it was important to think things through. I forced myself to concentrate when all I wanted to do was to return to the arms of passive sleep.
I’d known I was pregnant for more than a week. I’d missed my cycle, which wasn’t unusual for me. But when the second time came and went, I knew I something was up. A home pregnancy test confirmed it. I hadn’t been to the doctor yet; for some reason, I didn’t want to see it in black and white and I had no idea what I was going to do about it. One thing was for sure: I couldn’t tell Dad.
I did something I hadn’t done for a very long time: I got dressed and rode the subway. I changed to the train at one point and rode the cars until I was far out on the island and could sit on the beach and look out to the sea. There was so much thinking to do.
I was glad I’d brought my heavy coat; one tends to forget how cold it can be at sea. The city had buildings to shield the winter’s remaining gusts, but at the edge of the sea, it was just you, and your conscience. I’d brought mine with me that day. It was sitting heavily and I shifted as I thought through things.
I thought about the tiny life inside me and I knew I had options to end the entire mess in a doctor’s sterile office. Dad would never know and I would always remain his little girl of whom he could be proud and feel that he’d accomplished a job well done. Sean would never find out and he wouldn’t be tempted to rescue me—to scoop me up and carry me off to Iowa where the child would be raised among the corn stalks and be like Sean, with few options. I knew that wasn’t entirely fair, but I also knew that it was the only thing that Sean would be able to do. Then, I had the option of raising the baby myself and turning my face into what was sure to be an onslaught of family and friend disapproval. It would be very difficult to support a child on my salary, especially when it meant I didn’t have room for a nursery and no daycare options.
I felt tears in my eyes; they never made it down my cheeks, but dried in the blustery wind. I knew the truth; I did not want to give up the baby I carried. I never had believed in that option from the beginning and even though I found myself giving thought to it now, I knew I couldn’t do it. I had been raised to respect human life that was created in consensual love. My dad had raised me to respect life and had risked his own every day of his career with that mindset. I knew I would keep the baby. All that remained was to figure out how.
I made my way home and felt good for the outing. I’d silently prayed on the way home and asked for the path to be revealed. I just hoped I was smart enough to see it.
* * *
There was voicemail for me. It was John Warner and he was asking me to come into the office. I felt a momentary flare of fear and tried to quell it in a hot shower. I had to recognize that I’d already chosen the path of keeping my child and raising it alone. Now would begin the resistance. I knew there was a rough road ahead and as strong as I believed myself to be, I knew I would get through it.
I made it to his office and he was waiting for me.
“Pack your bags,” he said, unceremoniously.
“I beg your pardon?” All I could hear was that I’d just been fired. Panic hammered the blood in my ears.
“I said, throw your clothes in a suitcase and be on the next plane to Indiana; South Bend to be exact.”
Was I being sent into exile even before anyone knew what was going on with me? At least I wasn’t being fired. “Can I ask for details?”
“It’s in the envelope,” he said, handing me a manila envelope that was thick and weighty. He was puffing away on his stub and had already gone back to work.
“Ohhhhhkay,” I muttered and turned to go into the next room and see what the contents held.
Martha looked over her shoulder. “You’re going to love Indiana, you know.”
“Oh?” I looked up and wondered what she meant.
“It’s in the middle of nowhere. A girl can do just about anything there and no one will know.”
My mouth dropped open and I quickly snapped it shut. It was almost as if…
“I do.” Her words were concise and to the point.
“You…” I let the thought trail for her to fill in.
“You can handle it. You’re strong. You’re resourceful. You got a job here, didn’t you?”
I shook my head. I felt like I was in a nightmare and that Martha knew my secret.
“I do,” she repeated.
I walked over to her desk and leaned far inward so I couldn’t be overheard. “What are you talking about?”
“You didn’t know?” she asked, peering over her glasses.
“Know what?”
“I’m psychic. Hell, I thought I told you that the first day.” She went back to opening the mail.
“What does that mean?” Was she crazy? Guessing? Either way, I wasn’t going to feed her with news.
“Let me spell it out for you, girly. I can see things about other people. Sometimes remotely, but generally when they’re in the room with me. I know about the baby and while I’m not sure whose it is, it really doesn’t matter because you’re in a pickle and still deciding how to get yourself out of it.” She was blunt.
I thought I would vomit on her desk. “Are you kidding?”
“Am I?”
I turned away and looked out the short windows at the sky. It was clouding up and probably would rain. “No, you’re not wrong. I don’t know how you know, but you hit it on the head.” I swirled. “Oh, my god, Martha. You can’t say anything about this. I can’t lose my job. Please? It’s all I have. Without it, I might be forced to give up the baby and I don’t want to do that.”
“Nah. I don’t tell him,” she motioned with her thumb over her sh
oulder in the direction of Warner’s office. “He’s an ass. Asses can’t be trusted; they always want to use what they know to their own advantage. No, girly, your secret is safe with me. Anyway, what I was trying to say is that Indiana is a good place to go through what lies ahead.”
“I hadn’t thought that far ahead. I still can’t believe you never let on to me that you knew.”
She looked up again and spread her hands in defeat. “You’re never in here. I can’t be watching you all the time, you know. I have to look after others, too.”
I nodded toward Warner. “Does he know?”
“Nope.” She shook her head and a sly grin appeared on her face. “Are you kidding? He thinks I’m the damned best secretary God ever made and that’s just fine with me. I anticipate his needs because I hear them as soon as he thinks of them. I remind him when he forgets and I often have to straighten his ass out by planting thoughts that he wouldn’t have on his own. Nah… it’s sort of like a game for me. I like messing with his head and he doesn’t even know it.”
I wanted to be Martha. I wanted to have that power, to plant thoughts and to read minds. How wonderful would that be?
“Why, Martha, you sly thing, you. I need to write a story on you!”
“Are you kidding?” she mimicked horror. “Hell, no. They’d put me in some carney side show or on Geraldo.”
