by Theresa Shea
The question hung unanswered in the air. After a minute, Elizabeth reached across the table and gave Marie’s hand a squeeze. “So now what?”
“So now Barry and I have this awful decision to make.” Her voice broke. She shredded the tissue in her hand and squeezed her eyes shut. “I feel like we’re damned if we do and damned if we don’t,” she whispered. “And I don’t know what we’ll tell the girls. They’re so excited about having a baby around again. Nicole was really hoping for a baby brother. Oh, and that’s another thing. We found out that the baby’s a girl. I didn’t want to know, but Barry asked.”
The door to the coffee shop banged open, assisted by the wind, and a large group of office workers scurried inside. Soon, the sound of milk being steamed filled the shop.
Elizabeth leaned closer to be heard over the noise. “Do you have to decide right away? You only found out yesterday. Maybe if you sleep on it a while you’ll have a better idea what to do.”
Marie shook her head. “The doctor said we don’t have much time. I’m already well into my fourth month. The sooner we make the decision the better.” She wiped her nose and folded what was left of the tissue into a ball. “I feel like such an idiot. I mean, lots of women think something might be wrong with their baby, but not all of them have a damaged child. The doctor told me what the process would be, but it was like I was numb because I wasn’t prepared at all for having to make this decision.” She took a deep breath to compose herself. When she spoke again, the panic had left her voice. “I think if I’d never had kids it would be an easier decision.”
Elizabeth nodded automatically. But did Marie mean that a childless person would have an easier time aborting a baby? That was ridiculous. And insulting. She wanted to correct Marie’s misconception. She wanted to tell her about the time she had seen the mouse caught in a trap on the landing of her basement steps, its head twisted to one side by the gold bar that pinned its neck, its long tail stretched out like the root from a garden vegetable. She wanted to tell Marie how she had recoiled immediately, and then, despite her disgust, how she’d turned to look at it again, the soft grey underbelly.
And then it had moved.
The entire belly had heaved. The fur rippled and bulged. Then it was quiet again. She wanted to tell Marie how she had raced upstairs and closed the door, sick to her stomach for having killed a mother mouse with its babies still alive inside her!
Marie continued. “It gets worse. The baby’s kicking all the time now, and I just want it to stop. We had to wait three weeks to get the test back, and during that time, whenever the baby kicked, I pretended it wasn’t happening. I didn’t want to bond with it, just in case. And now . . .” Her face scrunched up as she cried. “It’s like I’m in this rage. I don’t want it inside me anymore, but I don’t have any control over it. Every time it moves I think how it hasn’t asked for permission. Why can’t it just die on its own, without me having anything to do with it? Then I wouldn’t have to feel so guilty.”
Marie looked stunned by her outburst. She glanced around the café, but nobody was staring. “I’ll miss it too, you know,” she added in a whimper.
The coffee grinder started up and drowned the sound of voices.
“What does Barry think of all this?” Elizabeth asked.
Marie moved to the edge of the loveseat. “Barry doesn’t want the baby.” She wiped at her tears. “And I really don’t know . . .” She faltered. “I feel so selfish, like we’re not willing to love this baby because it’s not perfect. But who is perfect? We’re going to talk again tonight, but unless he’s had a drastic change of heart . . .”
“You make it sound like it’s all Barry’s decision,” Elizabeth said. “Are you sure about this? What do you want?”
“That’s just it, I honestly don’t know what I want. And I don’t feel like I have the time to figure that out. But I certainly don’t want to lose my family.”
Elizabeth put her hand gently on Marie’s knee. “What makes you think you’d lose your family?”
Marie stared at the ceiling to keep more tears from falling. “It’s got to be an awful strain on a marriage. Do you know how many marriages don’t survive? What if Barry and I didn’t make it? What would that do to the girls?”
“There’s no guarantee that you’ll make it anyway,” Elizabeth said. “Ron and I almost didn’t make it. We came close there. Isn’t it more important to agree on the decision? Because if you do something that you don’t believe in, for Barry’s sake, how will you live together then?”
They sat silently for a moment. Elizabeth was the first to speak again. “It seems so black and white,” she said. “Have the baby or terminate the pregnancy. Are you sure there aren’t any other options?”
“None that make any sense,” Marie said, steadying her hands on her knees.
“What about adoption?” Elizabeth asked. “I was adopted, and things worked out well.”
“Yeah, but there wasn’t anything wrong with you. Healthy babies always get adopted. I can’t imagine waiting to find out if someone had adopted my baby yet. Plus, I couldn’t very well explain that to the girls, could I?”
Elizabeth leaned back into the loveseat and sipped her coffee. She wasn’t one to talk about adoption because she’d never wanted to adopt either. But Elizabeth couldn’t compare her situation to Marie’s because Marie had already had two children, which was something Elizabeth had never been able to manage. She tried to imagine what she would do in Marie’s position but couldn’t. There had been too many years of wanting a baby. Would I parent a child with Down syndrome if I knew in advance and had the choice not to? Would I take a child that I conceived, no matter what its condition?
Would I?
In the damp air of the coffee shop the question settled like mist over her skin, filtered into her blood cells, into her organs.
Would I?
She closed her eyes for a moment and felt the fire’s heat. The sounds of the café gradually diminished. She felt herself drawn toward the heat of the fire, as if she were being gently guided. She was cradled in warmth. And in that solitary moment she felt a monstrous weight lifted from her. Her back straightened, her shoulders squared, her torso lengthened. She was light as a feather, her bones hollowed like a bird’s. A sweet calm nested in her stomach, and tears spilled down her cheeks.
The heat coursed through her like an electric current. She opened her eyes and scanned the shop. The edges of the table looked sharper. The windows overlooking the street looked cleaner. The voices of the customers were more full of life.
Then she looked at Marie. Her head was bent down, and her dark hair spilled over her shoulders. Marie. She felt the hot breeze on her cheek, and the air felt humid like the summer afternoons they’d spent at the creek. She saw woven dandelion crowns. Tasted ripe Saskatoon berries on her tongue. Saw the dolls disappear in the fast-moving creek. Felt the coarse tree bark against her bare legs.
Words rose to Elizabeth’s mouth unbidden. Her lips parted. “I’ll take the child,” she whispered.
Marie’s head jerked up. Her eyes contained a mixture of confusion and fear. “What did you say?”
“I’ll take the child,” Elizabeth repeated more firmly, surprised by the words that her tongue had thrust from her mouth.
The colour drained from Marie’s face. “What do you mean?”
“Let me raise her,” Elizabeth said, more animated now. “I know this sounds crazy, and obviously you don’t have to make a decision right now, but if you don’t want the baby and you don’t want to abort it either, give her to me. Let me raise her for you.”
Marie looked as if the floor had opened up beneath her. She clutched the arms of the loveseat to keep herself from falling. Then she stood abruptly and grabbed her coat and purse. “This was not why I came,” she said.
Elizabeth stood up too and placed her hands on Marie’s shoulders.
“Listen, Marie. Wait.”
Marie fell back into the loveseat, her face wh
ite and fearful. Elizabeth reached out and firmly gripped her wrist. “Look, we’re both kind of in shock right now, but think about my suggestion, okay? I’ll take the child. I mean it. Or at least talk to Dr. Maclean before you make any decision. He was my doctor when I was young; he’s an expert on Down syndrome. I remember going to his office and having the waiting room filled with children who had Down syndrome. He’s done remarkable work; I think he’s been a real pioneer . . . I could call him for you.”
She stopped when she saw the panic on her friend’s face.
“Marie? Are you okay?”
“No, I’m not.” She put her face in her hands and sobbed. “I can’t stay here,” she said, pulling on her coat. “I have to go home.”
Elizabeth stood up. “Wait. Marie! You’ve got more options than you think. I’d love . . .”
But Marie was already at the door, falling headlong into the driving rain.
THIRTY-FIVE
She heard Elizabeth’s voice call after her but she kept on moving.
She’d come for sympathy, not for a solution. Elizabeth wasn’t supposed to offer her another option. Didn’t she know how to listen, how to pat a friend’s hand and nod knowingly? Now there was yet another wrinkle in things.
The van was parked half a block down Jasper Avenue and the rain fell heavily onto Marie’s hurrying figure.
Directly across the street was the General Hospital, ugly as a nuclear power plant. Why at every turn was there some sign of her predicament? Suddenly she hated everything about it, the crowded parking lot, the sad attempt at landscaping, the stone statues of mercy and grace.
Marie unlocked the van and ducked inside. The rain hadn’t put out the fiery heat of her emotions. Elizabeth might as well have kicked her in the teeth or thrown her in front of a bus. I’ll take the child.
A voice in her head said, Home.
She turned the key in the ignition and backed quickly from her spot and into traffic. Home. She needed to be home now.
I’ll take the child.
Why hadn’t Elizabeth just listened?
Let me raise her. That’s what friends do, you know.
Her mouth tasted sour. Elizabeth knew nothing about being a friend. That was obvious now. Almost twenty years ago she’d taken Ron, and now she wanted Marie’s child too?
She was driving too fast. She clutched the steering wheel, leaning forward in the afternoon’s pale light to peer through the windshield.
Somewhere in a calm spot in her mind, she knew she wasn’t being truthful or fair, but she couldn’t help herself. She needed someone to blame.
Marie tucked her hair behind her ears and used the steering wheel to pull herself to her full height. Of course she would love the baby if it were born, but wasn’t it a kind of love to protect someone from the pain of being different and excluded?
Sometimes love was available in life, and you chose it. But maybe sometimes you didn’t choose it. If she had the baby, Marie didn’t doubt that she’d love it. But if she didn’t have the baby, then she’d be protecting her child from a life of exclusion. Wasn’t that a form of love? Or was it just a big cop-out? Maybe what she was really wanting was to protect herself from the pain of loving a child that was now targeted as undesirable. If there was a test designed to weed these kids out, then who was she to go against that current? Hadn’t skilled medical researchers worked years to isolate the ingredients that produced these children?
She turned the van into her driveway and parked it in the garage. Her girls would be home soon, and she needed to compose herself. This decision was likely going to be the biggest turning point of her life. She would need to live with herself afterwards, no matter what action she decided to take.
THIRTY-SIX
Elizabeth stared at the café door, certain that Marie would return, but after several minutes had passed she realized her friend had definitely gone. She replayed their conversation in her mind, looking to see where she might be at fault. She had blindsided Marie by saying she’d raise the baby, that much was certain. But it wasn’t fair for Marie to be angry about her spontaneous offer. What had she said, anyway? That she’d raise the child as her own. It was the perfect solution. Marie didn’t seem prepared to raise the child, but she also didn’t seem keen on aborting it. With one simple decision, she could absolve herself of the responsibility of raising the child and erase her best friend’s childlessness. Hadn’t her own daughter, Nicole, once said that it would be a good idea for her mother to give Elizabeth a baby?
She stepped out into the rain and pulled her jacket tight to her neck. Dr. Maclean could help her. She stepped around the dirty puddles on the sidewalk. He would help convince Marie to let the child live.
When the light changed she crossed the intersection.
Why hadn’t she been more persuasive? She hadn’t said that she’d love the baby as if it were hers, but that should go without saying because Marie knew how much Elizabeth wanted a baby. Yet she hadn’t rehearsed any of it. How could she have? She didn’t know about Marie’s test results. There was no way she could she have prepared herself better.
She reached her shop and went straight to her office. The rest of the afternoon sped by, and soon she was in her car, heading home. In the stalled afternoon traffic, under the soft rays of the lingering sun, she picked her bottom lip until a thin strand of skin tore off and she tasted blood.
She wanted that baby.
Not since her last round of failed in vitro sessions had she wanted something so badly.
Yet here she was, placing her fate in another person’s hands. Again. What if she didn’t get what she wanted?
She gripped the steering wheel to erase the image of her own devastation. It was too much to contemplate. Now that Marie knew she had another option, that her best friend would raise the child as if it were her own, she wouldn’t terminate the pregnancy. She couldn’t.
Could she?
She licked her lips and tasted blood. A nervous giddiness lightened her stomach. Down syndrome. It wasn’t so bad, was it? Certainly there were worse things. The girl would know she was loved and she’d return that love too. Elizabeth remembered the young mothers in Dr. Maclean’s waiting room all those years ago when she’d still been his patient. One mother, in particular, had carried her baby in a sling and looked adoringly upon him as he lay in her lap. That kid would be almost thirty by now and probably still holding his mother’s hand when he went for a walk.
She would phone Dr. Maclean and ask his advice. He’d made a career of studying people with Down syndrome. He would have wise words for her. But would he remember her? And how would she find him? He couldn’t still be practising, could he? She did some quick math and decided he’d be almost seventy by now. She hadn’t seen him since she’d gone for a prescription for birth control when she was seventeen. An irony, now.
The afternoon sun blazed on the western horizon. A car honked behind her and she inched forward in the heavy traffic on the High Level Bridge.
The small guestroom that was currently her study would be the nursery. She’d picked that room because the south-facing window brought in lots of light. She’d paint it, of course. Maybe she’d put some stencils on the walls too. Of teddy bears? Clowns? Balloons? There was so much to do in the next four months. And there’d likely be some legalities to iron out in terms of custody rights. But they had time to sort everything out.
And then she remembered Ron. She’d spoken as if he was in complete agreement with her. But if Barry didn’t want the child, and it was his own flesh and blood, what made her think that Ron would agree to raise it?
The North Saskatchewan River shimmered in the sun’s orange glow. The water levels had finally receded after the spring thaw. New islands of moist sand and silt dotted the north bank. A flock of seagulls bobbed sedately in the main channel, enjoying the lengthening days. She watched them and felt a twinge of envy for their simple lives.
She passed a stalled car at the bridge’s south end and quickly pi
cked up speed.
What am I going to tell Ron? she thought.
What is Marie going to tell Barry?
THIRTY-SEVEN
“She what?!” Barry said, his eyes wide with shock.
“Keep your voice down!” Marie hissed, rinsing lettuce in the sink. She cocked her head and listened for a moment. All was quiet downstairs.
“Is she nuts?” He paced the room. “I can’t fucking believe this!”
“Calm down, Barry.”
“Who does she think she is, Mother Teresa or something? She’s supposed to help you, not make things harder. What did you say to her, anyway?”
“I didn’t say anything! I just told her we got the results back and were having a hard time with our decision. She means well, you know.”
“Oh, for God’s sake!” Barry exploded. “Do you really think she’s trying to help us? Do you feel better now, knowing that someone else would raise our baby while we can’t wait to get rid of it?” He sat down abruptly at the kitchen table and put his hands over his face. “Christ,” he mumbled. “What did you tell her?”
“I can’t remember what I said. I was as shocked as you are. I certainly didn’t tell her she could have it. Even if I thought it was a good idea, I knew I’d have to talk to you first.”
“What do you mean ‘even if you thought it was a good idea’? You’re not actually thinking about it, are you?”
Marie turned back to the sink so Barry couldn’t see her face. Of course she’d thought about it. How could she not? All the way home in the car she’d thought about it, alternately raging against the new scenario Elizabeth had introduced and then imagining her and Ron pushing a stroller.
She had also pictured the various scenarios involved in telling her children, her parents, and the rest of the family. Auntie Elizabeth couldn’t have her own children, she imagined explaining to her daughters, so we gave her our baby. But wouldn’t they later think it was strange that the child their parents had so generously given away was the one with Down syndrome? And then she’d thought about fabricating an even bigger lie. Because she’s my best friend and couldn’t get pregnant, I agreed to carry Elizabeth’s baby. So it was never ours to begin with. That didn’t seem so far-fetched. She’d read stories of people who’d carried children for friends or siblings.
