“I’m just kind of tense, I guess.”
“Well,” he said, rolling onto his back, “let’s just make this easy, then.”
He walked into the living room and returned with a joint. “Come on, Bryn. Loosen up and let’s have some fun.”
A wave of nausea rolled through her and she bolted from the bed. She slammed the bathroom door behind her and knelt before the toilet.
“Bryn?” Paul’s voice was muffled. “You okay?”
“No,” she called back. “I’m sick.”
She threw up the little she’d eaten at dinner, then leaned back against the wall, feeling tears well up in her eyes. When her stomach had finally settled, she rose cautiously and walked back to the bedroom, where Paul lay on the bed, snoring loudly.
She sighed and pulled a blanket from the bed to sleep on the couch.
9
Corrie sat at her desk, her head between her hands, staring blankly at the pages laid out before her. The winter issue was always so crowded. Christmas articles, alumni news, items put off from earlier issues that she wanted to run this year. And there were so many alumni pieces this time. She shook her head. Concentrate, she said to herself sharply. Just concentrate on this.
Her mind would not obey. Even during Mass earlier that morning, her mind had wandered. Usually, early Mass grounded her. The candles, the incense, the rosary, they calmed her like nothing else, but not today.
Like I can unplan an issue, just because he asks me to. Of course, his work is always the most important thing in the world, and mine is just . . . fluff.
She looked at the tentative layout before her. A piece on a student trip to Bethlehem. An opinion piece on religious displays on government property. A profile of a retired alum who worked as a department store Santa, complete with photos of the old guy with kids on his knees. The usual short blurbs about faculty publications and alumni awards. Class notes. Reunion news. Corrie was holding a page for the class photo from her reunion. She hadn’t gotten the file from the photographer yet. She’d asked for an extra copy of the photo to keep.
Yesterday, she’d been pleased with the way the issue was shaping up. Today, it looked like crap.
Fluff, she said silently. Fluff and mistletoe.
She put out a good magazine. The administration loved it. The Current consistently brought in contributions to the alumni fund. She did a good job.
So Daniel comes to town and it’s all just fluff? Some things never change.
She stood abruptly, knocking pages onto the floor.
“Kenetha,” she called. “Can you bring in the winter folder?”
Her assistant walked in, carrying a green folder bulging with papers and photos. She took one look at Corrie’s face and said, “Don’t even say it. Don’t even tell me you’re making changes. I am taking a vacation this month. I am going to Tampa with Jared. I am not missing another vacation.”
Corrie laughed. “Just a little change,” she said soothingly. “Just one little change.”
Kenetha sighed, dropped the folder onto Corrie’s desk, and lowered herself into a chair. “That’s what you always say.”
“This time I mean it. We’re just going to change the alumni profile.”
“You’re not using the old guy playing Santa? That’s such a nice piece. And you already paid the writer and the photographer.”
“I know, I know.” Corrie nodded, sitting on the edge of the desk. “But it just feels too fluffy. We need a harder-edged piece to balance all the saccharine in this issue.”
“It’s the Christmas issue, Corrie. People want saccharine.”
“Yeah, and we’ll have plenty of it. But let’s give them some meat, too.”
Kenetha sat back in the chair, resigned. She knew the look on Corrie’s face, and she knew it was pointless to argue. “Okay, what are we doing instead?” she asked.
“I want to profile a guy I know. He graduated the same year I did, and he runs a community center in California that’s about to lose its funding.”
“There’s a cheery Christmas story,” Kenetha grumbled.
“Well, it could be if our readers decide to do something to help.”
Kenetha simply stared at her in disbelief for a moment, then shook her head slowly. “If you’re going to ask for money, you’d better talk to the board first. You know how they feel about fundraising in the magazine.”
“Hell, Kenetha. We ask for money in every single issue for the alumni association. This is a worthy cause.”
“Honey, they’re all worthy causes. You know that. What’s so special about this one?”
Corrie didn’t answer. Kenetha looked at her closely, then smiled.
“Or is it the man that’s special?”
“He’s just an old friend, and it’s a good cause,” Corrie said firmly. “Besides, it’s a good story—especially for Christmas. You know, the Scrooges in Washington taking away the kids’ community center. Give our readers a chance to play Santa themselves instead of just reading about one.”
“And who is going to write this article on such short notice?” Kenetha asked, noting Corrie’s reddening cheeks and bright eyes.
“I’m going to do it,” Corrie said quietly. “I’ll fly to Los Angeles next week, spend a couple days, shoot some pictures, and be home before the weekend.”
Kenetha rose and walked to the door. “Have you told Mark yet?” she asked.
“No, but he won’t mind. Why should he? He’s in New York this week. He travels all the time.”
“But he’s not visiting old girlfriends,” Kenetha said tartly as she walked away. “Is he?”
Corrie shook her head as she picked up the phone and dialed the travel agency.
Kenetha has a vivid imagination, she thought. This is going to be a good article, that’s all, a chance to write about something important.
“Hey, you.” Bob stood in Bryn’s doorway looking slightly rumpled in chinos and a corduroy jacket. He always looked slightly rumpled. He smiled. “How are you feeling this morning?”
Bryn turned and walked back into the apartment, leaving the door open for him to follow. She was wearing Paul’s blue terry bathrobe over nothing. She felt like death warmed over.
“Sorry, I haven’t gotten dressed yet,” she said, waving him toward the couch as she stumbled to the bedroom to change.
She reemerged a few minutes later wearing shorts and a wrinkled T-shirt. “You want coffee?” she asked, heading for the kitchen.
“Sure, okay,” he answered, following her.
She began making a pot of coffee. Bob sat at the table, watching her expectantly.
“So?” he finally asked. “Did you tell him?”
“No, and I’m not going to.”
Bryn turned to face him, her pale face staring bleakly beneath a fringe of dark bangs.
“This isn’t your problem, Bob, it’s mine. Okay? I appreciate your concern, but it’s my problem and I’ll deal with it.”
Bob rose and walked to the counter. He put his hands on her shoulders and said, “Hey, I’m just concerned about you. I want to help.”
“Well, you can’t,” she snapped, turning away. “I’ll handle it myself.”
As she poured the water into the coffeemaker, she felt her stomach lurch. “Damn! I’ll be glad to be done with the morning sickness,” she said, turning toward the bathroom.
Bob sat listening as she threw up in the toilet. He watched the coffeepot filling, noted the dishes piled in the sink, the ashtrays filled with cigarette butts, the mini-blinds coated with a film of dust.
He filled the sink with soapy water and began washing dishes. By the time Bryn returned, shaky and paler than ever, he had cleared the sink, emptied the ashtrays, and was wiping down the blinds.
“What are you doing?”
“Just picking up a little. You know, you should ask Paul not to smoke in the apartment. It’s not good for you or the baby.”
“Stop it, Bob. I’m not having this baby. I told you last nigh
t, I can’t.” She grabbed the dishrag from him. “And I don’t need you to clean my damn house!”
He stood watching as she poured two cups of coffee, added cream and sugar to one, and handed it to him, keeping the black brew for herself. Then he followed her silently into the living room. She flopped down onto the couch and stared darkly at him. He sat down and sipped his coffee, waiting. He knew Bryn, knew if he waited she would calm down and talk to him, knew better than to be offended by her outburst.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, drinking coffee. Finally, Bryn breathed a long, shuddering sigh and set her cup down.
“Okay, look,” she said, leaning forward, “I cannot have a baby. Not with Paul. He’s just not father material. He doesn’t like kids and he doesn’t want them. He’d be a terrible dad. Hell, he’s still a kid himself.”
“He’s forty-six,” Bob said quietly.
“I know that, but he still thinks he’s twenty. Christ, he spends almost every night sitting here getting stoned. He’s still teaching as an adjunct after all these years. The school is never going to offer him a tenure-track position, and he knows it. But still he stays. He has no savings, no long-term plans, no goals or ambitions. Everything we own is in this apartment,” she said, waving her hand at the room. “What the hell kind of life could we offer a kid? Besides,” she added, “I’d be a lousy mom. I can’t even leave Paul and take care of myself. How would I take care of a kid?”
“Why don’t you leave him?”
“What would I do? I’m thirty-two and I’ve never worked a full-time job. I don’t think I could even get a full-time job at this point. Who’d hire me? And I can’t afford a decent place on my own.” Bryn took a pack of cigarettes from the end table, pulled one from the pack, and began tapping it with her fingernail.
“You’re not smoking again, are you?”
“No,” she sighed, returning the cigarette to the pack. “It took too long to quit last time. But, God, I wish I could have one now.”
Bryn stood and began pacing around the small living room. She looked like a caged animal, Bob thought. Taut, wired, and ready to spring. He waited again, silently.
“I know I should leave,” she said at last. “I know he’s not going to change. He’s not going to grow up. I know that.” She sighed. “It used to be so much fun, you know? He was so charming and fun. He seemed so free. But it’s not free, really, it’s just irresponsible.”
She picked up the cigarettes again, held the pack for a moment, then crushed it slowly in her hand.
“I could stay another ten years and nothing would change. He wouldn’t change. I wouldn’t change. Nothing would change.”
“Then leave.” Bob leaned forward. “Leave him and have this baby. You don’t need him. You can do it on your own—lots of women do. And you have so many friends to help you.”
Bob rose and took Bryn’s hand. “Corrie will help you, and Kenetha and Sarah. She knows all the good babysitters. And I’ll be there for you, too.”
Bryn stared at him in silence.
“You’ll be a good mom, Bryn. There’s no one with more love to give than you. I know it will be hard. Of course it will be hard. Even with two parents and a steady income, parenting is hard. But, God, it’s so worth it. You can’t even know. When you hold that baby in your arms, and he’s just looking up at you, trusting you, and you’re his whole world—or hers. God, it will just blow you away.”
Bryn let the tears spill down her cheeks. She didn’t even bother wiping them away. “You make it sound so easy,” she said. “You make it sound so good.”
“I didn’t say it would be easy,” he said, stroking her cheek. “But you won’t be alone.”
Bryn pulled away, wiping her hand across her face and sniffling. “God, can’t you just see my mother’s face? ‘No, Mom, I’m not finally marrying Paul. But I am leaving him. Oh, and by the way, I’m having a baby.’ She’d croak.” She began pacing again. “She’d finally disown me for good.”
“Until she saw her grandchild. You’d be amazed at the difference a baby makes.”
“You think?” She stopped pacing and stood in the middle of the room, staring toward the window. Then, abruptly, she turned to the kitchen. “I need more coffee, and then I’ve got to get to work. Aren’t you supposed to be at work now?” she asked.
“I’m running a group session at ten. But I’ve still got some time.”
“Well, I don’t,” she said, smiling slightly. “I’ve got a deadline to meet.”
She walked him to the door. “Thanks for coming, Bob. You’re a sweetheart.”
“Don’t worry, Bryn. It will be all right.”
“Sure, I know.”
She closed the door behind him, then went to the bedroom and began pulling her clothes from the dresser drawers.
Corrie looked up from the email she was reading to see Bryn standing in the doorway of her office, suitcases in hand.
“Hi,” she said. “Where are you off to?”
“Can I crash at your place for a few days?”
“You and Paul fighting again?”
“No, I’m leaving him.”
Corrie smiled as Bryn dropped the suitcases and sat down.
“I mean it this time. It’s really done.”
“Okay, sure, whatever. If you’re finally leaving him, then I’m glad. But I’ll reserve judgment for a few weeks.”
“Witch.” Bryn laughed.
Corrie smiled again. Then her brow furrowed. “But about staying at my house . . . it’s okay with me. But I won’t be there next week. So it’ll just be you and Mark.”
“Where are you going?”
“I’m going to L.A. for a story,” Corrie said, straining to keep her voice flat.
“Kind of a sudden trip, isn’t it? You didn’t mention it the other day.”
“What are you, my mother?”
“No, but you hate to travel. Usually, you bitch and moan for weeks ahead of time. Now all of a sudden you’re going to L.A., and you never even mentioned it?”
“It just came up.”
“You’re not going to visit a certain community center in Pasadena, are you?” Bryn asked, watching Corrie’s face closely.
“How did you know?”
“He was talking about it at dinner last night, about you doing a story in the magazine. I told him you wouldn’t. Apparently, I was wrong.”
“It’s a good story,” Corrie said quietly.
“I can’t believe you! He comes into town, crooks his finger, and you go running off to Los Angeles to write about his project. God, Corrie, what is wrong with you?”
Corrie’s cheeks reddened and her mouth set into a hard line. She sat silently for a moment, staring at Bryn. When she spoke, her voice was so soft Bryn had to lean forward to hear her.
“You’re one to talk. Jesus, Bryn, since when have you started handing out advice? I’m going because this will be a good story for the magazine, a strong story, an important story. And if it does some good for some kids there, all the better.”
Bryn smiled. “An important story, huh? Now where have I heard that before?”
“Okay,” Corrie said, smiling. “He still pushes my buttons. But he’s doing so much to help people, and all I do is this magazine. I need to do something for someone, and this is a good opportunity.”
“And are you planning to stay with Daniel in L.A.?”
“No!” Corrie looked up, aghast. “Of course not. I’m staying at the Pasadena Hilton. I’ve already made the reservation.”
“Does Mark know?”
“Not yet. He’s in New York till tomorrow. I’ll tell him when he gets home. He won’t mind.”
Bryn grinned, then looked down at her suitcases. Her smile faded.
“Well, hell,” she said. “Where am I gonna stay then?”
“You can still stay at the house,” Corrie suggested.
“I don’t think so. I can’t see rooming with Mark while you’re out of town.” She leaned forward and giggled
. “People might talk, you know.”
“That could be fun.” Corrie smiled. “How many people would tell me about it when I got back, do you think? Or maybe call me in California? We could start some very fine rumors.”
Bryn shook her head ruefully. “No, I’m afraid I’ve started too many of those just on my own.” She stared at the floor, thinking, And I definitely could start a few more right about now.
“What about staying with Sarah and Kevin?” Corrie asked.
“No.” Bryn shook her head again. “They’ve got two kids, and Sarah’s pregnant. They don’t need a houseguest.”
Suddenly, Bryn’s face brightened and she stood, picked up her suitcases, and walked to the door.
“Where are you going?” Corrie asked.
“To Bob’s,” Bryn said. “Daniel is leaving tomorrow. I figure we can stand each other for one night. Then he’ll be gone, and I can room with Bob for a while.”
“I don’t know, Bryn. Do you suppose that will upset Wendy?” Corrie’s brow wrinkled in worry.
“That’s the plan.” Bryn grinned. “I hope it upsets her big-time.”
“Bryn, you’re wicked.” Corrie smiled. “Still, I’m not sure it’s a good idea, right in the middle of their divorce mess. And his kids will be coming and going. Are you sure you want to do that?”
“Sure, why not? I like kids,” Bryn said, raising her chin slightly. “I happen to be very good with kids.”
“Okay,” Corrie said doubtfully. “But do me a favor. Don’t mention to Daniel that I’m planning to come to Los Angeles, all right? I want to just show up at the center next week, and I don’t want him to have the time to arrange anything.”
“You mean to stage anything?”
Corrie smiled wryly. “Yeah, that’s what I mean. Daniel is a good, bleeding-heart liberal. And if he thought it’d make people send money, I wouldn’t put it past him to stage some stupid stunt. Anyway, don’t tell him. Okay?”
“Sure,” Bryn called over her shoulder as she left. “Whatever.”
Corrie stared at the door for a long minute after her friend had left.
Now what is she up to?
The Weight of Small Things Page 6
