by Mary Campisi
Her eyes glistened. “I know. And now I’ll look like a big, fat slob. People will see me and wonder if I’m pregnant or just fat and then they’ll think I’m too old to be having a baby, so they’ll assume I’m just fat. And I’ll turn into one of those women whose stomach comes out as far as her boobs. Oh God, what have I done?”
“You and Richard have created a life. That’s wonderful, Shea.”
“I know.” She sniffed. “I do know, so what’s wrong with me? I’ve waited so long for this baby. Why am I crying about a body I’ll never have, never did have, either? Why do I care, Cyn?” She swiped her hands over her eyes, pulled her skin toward her hairline. “Maybe I have some sort of chemical imbalance and that’s why I’m so mixed up. I think I’ll have Dr. Soh run a few tests, just to be safe.”
“There just aren’t answers for everything, Shea. Sometimes, we just feel like shit, period. And sometimes, we feel like crying, so we cry. Don’t try to analyze everything because sometimes there is no answer.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of, Cyn—that there is no answer.”
“It’ll be okay. Let’s get you something to eat, and then you can go home and soak in the tub and think about how you’re going to give Richard the good news.”
“But what if I’m not pregnant?” Shea bit her lip. “I’m only four days late.”
“Do you think you are?”
She nodded.
“Then tell him.”
Chapter 4
Shea sank under the steamy water, immersed to her neck in lavender-chamomile scent, a concoction of herbs from Cyn’s backyard.
After downing a mushroom swiss burger on wheat with a side of fries, Shea stopped at Costco to pick up a pound of scampi, a container of scallops and a Black Forest Cake. After all, what was a celebration without food?
She patted her rounded stomach, pinched the extra inches of flesh around her middle. So much for losing twenty-five pounds before the baby. It wasn’t quite twenty-five if she subtracted her boobs, which were large and pendulous, and probably accounted for five to eight pounds. She had to admit, her breasts were one of her biggest assets. Richard loved them, loved what he could do with them…
Her fingers slid down her belly, to her crotch, pressed lightly. Richard’s baby.
Everything was ready for tonight—Donna & Desiree Doing It in the VCR, the nurse’s uniform with the black and red lace thong, the satin ties, the massage oil. The white stilettos. Thank God she only had to stand and bend over. It was all ready, just the way Richard liked it, though sometimes she wished he didn’t like it quite so much.
She’d tell him about the baby during dinner.
Their baby. Their second chance. This time, it would be Shea, not her mother, who saw to the immunizations, well baby check-ups, preschool registration. Shea would do everything she’d missed with Kirsten and Kyle because this time she wasn’t a single mother struggling to pay a mortgage. This time she had a husband who loved her and who would love this baby, too. The market would pick up soon, Richard would be back to five-digit commissions, and she’d cut her hours at the hospital. Maybe even quit one day.
Shea scooped water on her neck, giving herself up once more to the calm of lavender and chamomile. She finished her bath and began toweling off when she remembered the champagne. Damn, there wasn’t any. Real celebrations demanded champagne, even if she wasn’t drinking it. Shea pulled a scrub top over her head, jammed her legs into matching bottoms and grabbed the keys to the Honda. If she hurried, she’d have the champagne chilling before Richard got home.
Twenty minutes later she pulled into the driveway with two bottles of Asti Spumanti on the seat beside her. Unfortunately, Richard’s SAAB was already in the garage.
So, she didn’t have everything perfectly planned. Shea grabbed the bottles and headed inside, calling, “Honey, I’m home.”
The shower was running which meant Richard saw the nurse’s uniform. A shiver ran through her as she thought of what he’d do to her tonight with his hands and his mouth, and, oh God, his tongue, too.
Shea grabbed a corkscrew and two crystal goblets. She filled hers with apple juice and carried his in her other hand, tucking a bottle under her arm. “Honey? Richard?” She walked through their bedroom and into the master bathroom where Richard stood naked, toweling off. She could look at him forever, the lean, tanned lines of toned muscle, the boyish smile, the dimples, the brilliance of his silver eyes. “Hi, honey.”
He shifted the towel in his hand, let it drape one leg. “Shea. I didn’t expect you home yet.” And his voice, like a warm blend of whiskey and sex…
“I wanted to surprise you.”
His full, beautiful lips lifted at the corners. His gaze shifted to the champagne and glasses. “I see.”
Richard stood before her like a bronzed god, and suddenly, Shea felt dumpy and foolish in her green scrubs and naked face. “Would you like a drink?” She held up the Asti Spumanti.
“Uh, no, I don’t think so.”
“Oh. Maybe later then.” She set the bottle and the glasses, including her apple juice, on the counter. “We’re having your favorite meal tonight.” She moved toward her husband, ran her hands along his chest and kissed him slowly on the mouth.
“I have an appointment tonight.” He eased out of her grasp. “I just came home to take a quick shower, then I’ve got to run.”
“But…I thought we’d have a quiet dinner, scampi, scallops, Black Forest Cake, just the way you like it, and then,”—she stroked his back—“go to bed.” She flicked her tongue along his shoulder and whispered, “Just the way you like it.”
“Shea”—Richard moved out of reach, lifted a navy silk shirt off the hanger—“I can’t. You should’ve told me before and I wouldn’t have made an appointment.”
“Can’t you cancel it?” She hated herself for begging.
His silver gaze brushed over her. “Because I’m not going to get the sale anyway, is that what you mean?”
“No!”
“Sure it is, Shea. Just say it.”
“Sales will pick up soon, Richard. Interest rates are dropping, aren’t they?”
“Sure.” He shrugged into his shirt and reached for his slacks.
“I didn’t mean anything,” she whispered. “I just really wanted you to be here tonight. Kind of a celebration.”
He eyed the champagne. “Another promotion?”
“No, nothing like that.” She moved closer and stroked his cheek. “It’s us, Richard. I wanted to celebrate us.” And our baby.
He brushed her hand away. “I can’t.”
“I love you.”
“Jesus, please don’t start with that.”
“I just want to hear you say it.”
“I am not going to do this, Shea, not now.” He grabbed his jacket and breezed past her. “I’ll see you later. Don’t wait up for me.”
She watched the back of his head, the thick curls of black, swirled with silver. I’m pregnant. With your baby.
Richard swung around. “What did you say?”
Had she spoken aloud?
He moved toward her slowly, his eyes on her stomach. “What did you say, Shea?”
“I’m pregnant.”
“Pregnant.” The word fell out of his mouth, thick and foreign.
She ignored this, desperate to have him share her excitement. “You’re going to be a father,” she said softly.
“I’ve already done that.”
“No.” She touched his forearm. “This is going to be different. You’re not going to raise a child limited to every other weekend and two weeks in the summer. You’ll have contact every day, teaching him, or her, how to ride a bike, climb a tree, put together an erector set.”
“I think those hormones have gone to your head.” He gentled his voice. “Do I look like the kind of man who’s going to stay home Saturday nights building an erector set?”
“But it’s for our child.”
“Shea, come on, open your eye
s.”
“But we wanted this child.”
“You wanted it, not me. I never wanted the first two.”
“But we talked about it.”
“You talked about it.”
“But you let me think you wanted it too.”
“I never thought you’d get pregnant. You’re forty-one years old. Christ, chances are more likely you’d be going through the change than getting pregnant.”
“You…” She fell back against the sink, clutching her stomach.
“I’m sorry, Shea. What else do you want me to say?”
She slid to the floor, hands clasped under her shirt. “All this time, I believed you wanted it, too.”
“You believed what you wanted to believe. You think the world is wonderful and nobody screws anybody intentionally. Wake up. We all screw each other.”
Tears burned her eyes, spilled down her cheeks. “Do you love me, Richard?”
He shrugged. “Sure, sure I do, Shea. Now I’ve really gotta go. Get rid of the kid, okay? And get your tubes tied while you’re at it.”
***
“I love you, Mommy.” Charlie flung his tanned arms around Derry’s neck and pressed his little face against her chest.
“I love you, too, sweetheart.” She stroked his soft, wavy hair, the color of Godiva chocolate. Just like his father.
“Do you want to play Don’t Spill the Beans or Ants in Your Pants?” His head bounced up and he waited, lips puckered, eyes wide.
Derry looked away. The hair, the eyes, even the ears, would it ever stop? Would she ever look at Charlie and not see her husband screwing another woman?
“Mommy? Please?”
“Not tonight, Charlie. We’ll play tomorrow, after school.”
He frowned and thrust out his lower lip. “I can’t wait ‘til I’m ten. Then I can stay up all night like Josh.”
“Oh, really? I’ll bet Mrs. Hathaway would like to hear that. Now scoot to bed.” She tucked the covers under his chin, just the way he liked it, to keep monsters away. “Good night, I love you.”
“I love you.”
“Sleep tight and don’t let the bedbugs bite.” She pushed a curl from his forehead.
“If they do,” he growled, “bite ‘em back!”
Derry blew him a kiss and turned out the light, closing the door behind her. The master bedroom was at the end of the hall. Charlie didn’t ask why she and daddy didn’t sleep in the same room anymore. He now believed all mothers slept in rooms next to their children to keep them safe from monsters. Was she screwing the poor kid up, or what? Derry moved past her door, loosening her silk robe as she approached the master bedroom. For all the pain of these past three months, she enjoyed a twisted pleasure in tormenting Alec. Look but you know you can’t touch, and I see you looking. She smiled, picturing a helpless Alec watching as dozens of men ogled the new super-sized boobs that would be hers in three months.
The door to the master bedroom was half open and Derry knocked. This is what it’s come to, Alec, me knocking on our bedroom door. You did this.
“Come in.”
“I need to talk to you,” she said, closing the door behind her. Alec lay on the bed with a pillow propped behind his head reading Forbes. Derry smoothed the robe with her hands, letting it slide open to reveal a pink and black lace nightgown, the one she wore in Hawaii last year. He watched her, his gaze intent. He remembered, too.
“Okay.” His voice turned cautious, just like the lawyer he was.
But she had the control. She sat on the edge of the bed and pretended not to notice the way the nightgown rode up her leg, revealing a long slit of tanned thigh. “I’m going away for awhile.”
He said nothing, merely folded the magazine over his bare chest and waited.
If she didn’t know him so well, she would’ve taken his response for casual interest, almost disinterest. But the tightness around his mouth, the slight tensing of jaw, told her she’d gotten to him. She shrugged, looked away, “I’m not sure where yet, maybe I’ll drive up the coast, see some sights.”
“Alone?”
“Probably not.”
More silence. Then, “How long is this going to go on, Derry?”
“What?” Say it, damn you.
“Christ, I admitted it was wrong not to tell you when I found out but I also told you my reasons for not telling you.”
“Two years, Alec? You knew two years and you never said a word.”
“The timing wasn’t right.”
“Give me a break. The timing was never going to be right.”
“Because I thought of Charlie as our son. And you treated him that way until three months ago.”
This was not the conversation she wanted right now. Alec needed to bleed with regret and she was the one to gouge him. “I’m going to leave in a day or two,” she said, changing the subject. “I’ll call your mother and see if she can stay here while I’m gone.”
“Did you tell Charlie yet?”
“No.”
“Good. I think we should tell him together.” His eyes moved to her chest, her stomach, her thighs.
“Fine.” Like what you see? She opened her legs just enough to shift her nightgown three more inches. Take a nice, long look. She slid her hands slowly up and down her thighs.
Alec lunged at her, grabbed her wrist and said, “Don’t play games with me, Derry.”
She tried to jerk her hand away but he tightened his grip, pulled her closer until their faces were inches apart. “Don’t touch me.”
His laugh poured over her, cold, knowing. “You’ve been begging me to touch you since you came in.” His free hand stroked her cheek, trailed down her neck. “You might hate me right now but you still want me, I see it in your eyes. You’ve never been able to hide that from me, Derry.”
“Let me go.” She slapped his arm with her other hand, but he flipped her onto her back, clasped both arms above her head and wedged himself between her thighs. His erection pressed against her from beneath his sweats. She tried to hold still, telling herself she didn’t want this, but when he started kissing her neck, the swell of her breasts, sliding his hardness against her crotch in slow, erotic movements, she couldn’t think. Her body loosened and she arched her back, let out a low moan and lifted her hips to meet his.
He laughed, a low, primitive sound as he released her hands to cup her buttocks, pulling her to him. Derry clutched his back, dragged her nails over his skin. Their mouths met, tongues and teeth clashing, plunging deep, and then she whimpered, pushing his sweats down with her toes. The mating turned frantic, obsessive, wanton. He split her open with need, driving into her one last time before he let out a groan and spilled himself inside her. Derry jerked against his slick body, once, twice, felt his fingers on her swollen flesh and exploded. It had been three months since she’d felt him like this. She closed her eyes and drifted off, almost as if it were like before…
Seconds later, a cold flash covered her body and she reached for Alec’s warmth. Where was he? She snapped her eyes open but he was already pulling on his sweats, his back to her. “This can’t go on like this, Derry,” he said, his voice flat.
“I know.”
“I can’t wait forever for you to decide if you want this marriage.”
“I know.” Turn around and look at me. Turn, please.
But he didn’t. Instead, he walked to the bathroom and shut the door. Derry slid off the bed, pulled her bathrobe tight around her and crept back to her room, where she crawled under the covers and curled into a tight ball. She hated him, hated him for making her want him.
But she hated herself more for wanting him to.
***
Cyn and Sam had moved to Reston, Virginia, to give their children the one thing they themselves lacked growing up in the hills of Pennsylvania—opportunity. And Reston burst with it. There were five-bedroom houses and steep tax bases which funded schools that specialized not only in topping the national test scores on an annual basis, but also in provi
ding sport and extracurricular activities extensive enough to warrant a twelve page student handbook. Cheerleading, volleyball, basketball, and of course, football. If one were more inclined toward non-athletic activities, then clubs such as Chess, Math and Science, Spanish, French, or even Russian were available.
Opportunity. So much, all within a child’s eager grasp.
Cyn wondered at the moment if it had been too much, given too freely that now it was expected. Case in point, seventeen-year-old Kiki standing before her whining because her parents wouldn’t fork over half a month’s paycheck for a spring trip to Madrid with her Spanish class.
“I should be able to go,” Kiki said. She crossed her arms over her push-up bra inflated chest and scowled. “I’m the smartest one in that class, Senora Altaldia says that I’m the ideal candidate.”
Cyn stood at the kitchen sink peeling potatoes. “Is Senora Altaldia going to pay for you to go?”
“Of course not.” Kiki sighed with the overblown melodrama of a seventeen-year-old. “That’s not the point.”
“What exactly is the point, Kiki? I’ve heard this same story for the last two weeks and I’m getting tired of it.”
“The point is I should be able to go, Mom. This is my one chance.” She said this with such desperate conviction. “April has gone twice, and she can’t even conjugate a verb.”
“But she’s got a mother who’s a psychologist and a father who’s a lawyer.”
“So, if you got a job I could go.”
Cyn set the potato peeler in the colander and turned slowly. “I have a job.”
“Yeah, sure you do, what’s that? Potato peeler? Grocery shopper?”
“I run this house and I take care of you girls and your father. That’s a full-time job.”
“Why can’t you earn just enough so I can go to Madrid, then you can quit? Wal-Mart’s always hiring.”
“Well then you’ve got a good shot.”
“I’ve got school. And it’s not like you don’t have the extra time. You could even make enough to send Janie to that cheerleading competition in Dallas she wants to go to.”
“Kiki, stop it. We don’t have the money, you aren’t going. Period.”