“When was your last period?” She calculated rapidly backward and told him. In medical parlance, she was six weeks pregnant. In “people talk,” it was only about a month, which meant she had plenty of time to get an abortion. For a moment, she even wondered about getting one without saying anything to Ollie. But she wasn't going to mention it to their doctor. She would call her gynecologist and get an appointment. “Congratulations, Sarah. You're a lucky girl. I hope Oliver will be happy.”
“I'm sure he will be.” Her voice felt like lead in her throat as she thanked him and hung up, and with shaking fingers dialed her gynecologist and made an appointment for the following morning. And then, in a panic, she remembered her tennis partners waiting for her on the court at the Westchester Country Club. She would have liked not to go, but it wouldn't have been fair to them, and she hurried out the door and turned the key in the ignition of her station wagon. And as she did, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. This couldn't be happening to her … it couldn't be … it wasn't fair … when she grew up she was going to be a writer … when … if … or maybe not. Maybe all she'd ever be was a housewife. The ultimate condemnation when she was in college. The thing she had never wanted to be, and now was. That was all she was, wasn't it? A housewife. She said it out loud in the car as though it were a dirty word … a baby … Jesus Christ … a baby … and what did it matter if it would be different this time, if they could afford help, if the house was big enough to accommodate all of them. The baby would still scream all night, still need to be bathed and dressed and fed and taken care of, and nurtured, and driven around and taken to the orthodontist one day. She would never get a chance to do what she wanted now. Never. She felt as though the unborn child, the mere knowledge of it, were threatening her very existence. And she wouldn't let it.
She forced the car into reverse and shot out of the driveway, and ten minutes later she was at the tennis courts, looking pale, and feeling sick, knowing what she did now.
She managed to keep the patter of conversation somehow, and that night she was grateful that Ollie had to stay late at the office, working on a presentation for a new client. A very big one. But what did it matter now how big his clients were? In Sarah's mind, her life was over.
She was asleep when he got home that night, and managed somehow to get through breakfast the next morning. He asked her what was bothering her, and she told him she had a splitting headache.
“Did you find out about those tests yet? Ill bet you really are anemic.” He looked suddenly worried, and instead of loving him for it, she hated him as she thought of what he had planted inside her.
“Not yet. They haven't called.” She turned away to put the plates in the dishwasher so he wouldn't see the lie in her eyes, and a few minutes later he was gone, and the children had been picked up by their car pools. And an hour later she was at the gynecologist's office, planning for her abortion, but the doctor threw her a curve, and asked her how Ollie felt about what she was doing. “I … he … uh …” She couldn't lie to the man. He knew her too well, and in addition to that, she liked him. She looked directly at him with a strange light in her eye, and silently dared him to defy her. “I haven't told him.”
“About the abortion or the baby?” He looked startled. He had always thought that they had a very happy marriage, the kind in which two people confide easily and openly in each other.
“Neither one. And I'm not going to.” His face set as he listened to her and he slowly shook his head in disapproval.
“I think you're making a mistake, Sarah. He has a right to know. It's his child too.” And then he had an uncomfortable thought. Perhaps there were things about them he didn't know. Anything was possible. “It is … isn't it?”
She smiled in answer. “Of course it is. I just don't want to have it.” She told him all the reasons why and he made no comment, but when she was through, he repeated again that he thought she should discuss it with her husband. He urged her to think about it, and after she had he would make the appointment for her, but not before.
“You're still a very young woman. You're certainly not too old to have this baby.”
“I want my freedom. In eleven years, my son will be in college, and my daughter two years later. If I have this baby, I'll be tied down for another twenty years. I'm not ready to make that kind of commitment.” It sounded incredibly selfish, even to her ears, but she couldn't help it. That was how she felt. And no one was going to change that.
“Is that what Oliver feels too?” She didn't answer for a long moment. She didn't want to tell him that Ollie had always wanted more children.
“I haven't discussed it with him,”
“Well, I think you should. Call me in a few days, Sarah. You have time to make the decision and still do things safely.”
“Time isn't going to change anything.” She felt defiant and angry and let down as she left his office. He was the one who was supposed to solve the problem for her and now he wasn't.
She went home and cried, and when Oliver came home at eleven o'clock that night, she was in bed, feigning another headache. The children were long since asleep, and she had left the TV on in the bedroom, droning at her as she waited for him to come home, but still sure she wouldn't tell him.
“How'd it go today? You look tired.” She looked up at him sadly as he walked into the bedroom.
“It went okay,” he said as he sat down on the edge of the bed and smiled at her and loosened his tie. The blond hair looked tousled by the wind, and he was tired, but he still looked unbearably handsome. How could he look like that? Life was so simple for him. All he had to do was go to an office every day and deal with real people in a real world. He got to have all the fun, while she spent every waking hour with women and children. There were things about life that weren't fair, and in her eyes, that was one of them. There were times when she wished she were a man, when she wished she had lived her life differently, when she wished she had gotten a job years before, instead of doing what she'd done. But this was so easy. She had taken the easy way out. She had had two kids, moved to the suburbs, and given up her dreams. And now she was having another baby … but she wasn't, she told herself rapidly … she was having an abortion. “What's wrong, Sarrie?” He looked worried as he bent to kiss her. He knew her too well, and he could see the anguish in her eyes, the anguish not born of guilt for what she wanted to do, but of anger at what had happened.
“Nothing. I'm tired too.”
“The kids give you a hard time today?”
“No … they were fine.”
“So what's wrong?” he persisted.
“Nothing,” she lied.
“Bullshit.” He took off his jacket, opened his shirt, and moved closer to her on the bed. “Don't try and kid me. You're worried sick about something.” And then a sudden wave of terror hit him. It had happened to a guy he knew at the office six months before. They discovered that his wife had cancer and four months later she was dead, leaving him devastated and alone with three children. Oliver knew he couldn't have lived through it if he lost Sarah. He had loved her for too long. She was everything to him. “Did the tests come back? Is there something I should know?”
For an instant she thought of what the doctor had said … You should tell him, Sarah … he has a right to know … it's his baby too … But I don't want to! something inside her screamed. “The tests were fine.” And then, forced by the honesty they had always shared, she let herself be pressed into telling him something she knew she'd regret later. “More or less.”
The pain of worry sliced through him like a knife as he gently took her hand in his own. “What does that mean?” He could barely speak and he never took his eyes from hers. “What did they tell you?”
She realized instantly what he thought and knew she couldn't cause him any more worry. She didn't want any more of his children, but she loved him. “It's nothing like that. Don't look so scared.” She leaned over to kiss him, and as he held her she could fee
l him tremble.
“Then what is it?”
She spoke in a whisper, from an abyss of despair, then slowly raised her eyes to his again, still wanting not to tell him. “I'm pregnant.”
For an instant, neither of them moved as her words sank in, and his whole body seemed to go slack from the tension that had seized him when she started speaking. “Oh my God … why in hell didn't you tell me?” He sat back and grinned and then his smile faded as he read the look in her eyes. She looked as though she would have preferred having cancer.
“I didn't know until yesterday. Stupid, I guess. It must have happened in Jamaica.”
He couldn't repress a grin and for an instant she wanted to hit him. “I'll be damned. I never even thought of that. I guess it's been a while, my memory is rusty.” His voice and eyes were gentle, but she pulled her hand from his and lay back against the pillows, as though to get as far away from him as she could. It was all his fault.
“I'm having an abortion.”
“Oh? When did you decide that?”
“Within about thirty seconds of hearing the news. Ollie, I can't do this.”
“Is something wrong?”
She shook her head slowly, suddenly knowing what a bitter fight it was going to be between them, but she wasn't willing to lose this time. She was not going to have this baby. “I'm too old. And it isn't even fair to the children.”
“That's crap, and you know it. They'd probably be thrilled if we told them.”
“Well, we're not going to. It's going to be all over in a few days.”
“Is that right?” He got up and started to pace the room. “Simple as that, is it? What is it with you? Every time you get pregnant, we have to go through this fucking insanity about abortion.”
“It's not insanity. It is my sanity. I don't want another baby. You go to the office every day, you have your own life. I'm stuck out here playing car pool and PTA mom, and I'm not going to re-up for another twenty years. “I've done ten, and the way I see it, I'm halfway through, and you're not going to change that.”
“And then what? What's so worthwhile killing this baby for? You're going to become a brain surgeon maybe? For chrissake, you're doing important things here, you're raising our children. Is that too big a sacrifice for Miss Cliffie to make for God and Country? I know you used to think you should be in SoHo with the Great Unwashed, writing poems and the Great American Novel. Personally, I think this has a little more merit, and I thought that by now you'd figured that much out too. For chrissake, Sarah, grow up!”
“I have grown up, God damn you. I've grown up, grown out, and grown old, and I'm not going to throw my life away for everyone else forever. Give me a chance, for chrissake. What about me? There are»more than just kids in this world, Oliver, or hadn't you noticed?”
“I notice that you have a damn easy life out here. While I work my balls off in New York, you play tennis with your friends, and make cookies with Melissa, and that's what you should be doing. But don't tell me what a fucking hardship that is, Sarah, I just don't buy it. And a baby isn't going to change any of that.”
“Bullshit!”
The fight raged until two in the morning, and the next night, and the next night, and the night after. It raged through the weekend and into the following week, with tears on both sides, and slamming doors, and ugly accusations. It finally boiled down to Oliver begging Sarah to have the baby, and eventually throwing up his hands, and telling her to do whatever the hell she wanted.
She scheduled the abortion twice, and even made the mistake of calling her sister in Grosse Pointe, which turned into an even bigger fight when her sister told her she thought she was indecent, immoral, and more than likely crazy.
It went on for weeks, and in the end, they were both drained, damaged, disillusioned, but somehow they managed to piece it all back together and Sarah did not have the abortion. But Oliver agreed that after this one,; she could have her tubes tied. He thought it was an unfortunate choice, but he also realized that neither of them could survive another attack like this one on the very foundations of their marriage, and Sarah assured him that under no circumstances was she going to be having another surprise baby when she was forty.
The baby came on Election Day, with Oliver standing in the delivery room, encouraging Sarah, who told him she hated him every time she had a contraction, and she had assured Ollie almost hourly for the past eight months that she was never going to give a damn about this baby. He told her he would love it for both of them, and the children were thrilled at the prospect. Benjamin was eight by then and intrigued and excited by the whole thing, and to Melissa, at six, it was like having a live doll to play with. Only Sarah had remained unenthusiastic about the impending arrival. And as the baby's head appeared, Oliver watched in wonder as Samuel Watson made his way into the world, with a loud cry and a look of amazement at his father. They handed the baby to Oliver first and he gently gave him to Sarah, who lay with tears streaming down her cheeks, remembering all the ugly things she had said about this baby. He had black hair and Ollie's green eyes, and creamy skin, and a look in his eyes that somehow foretold great wisdom and great humor. He was the kind of baby you fell in love with the moment you saw him, and as fervently as she had resisted him, Sarah fell as ardently in love with him from the instant she held him. He was “her” baby, no crier, no screamer, an easy, peaceful, happy baby, right from the first. He became her great passion in life, and she regaled Oliver nightly with tales of Sam's accomplishment and genius. He was just simply a very delicious baby, and everyone was crazy about him right from the first, Ollie, Sarah, his brother and sister, his grandparents. He was terrific, and he proved Ollie right, although he was gracious enough never to say it but they both knew. Ollie had been right, and they were both grateful that Sarah had had him. Everything about him was easy and lovable and fun, and he never became the burden Sarah had feared he would be.
To make matters easier, Ollie had hired a housekeeper for her, a local woman who'd worked for a bishop for fifteen years and wanted to find a household with a little life and fun. She loved Melissa and Benjamin, and like everyone else, she fell in love with Sam the minute she saw him. He had round cherub cheeks and a smile to match, and fat little arms and legs that begged you to squeeze and hold and kiss him. And more often than not Agnes, his benevolent guardian, and Sarah, his adoring mother, found themselves each kissing one chubby cheek as the three noses met and they laughed and Sam squealed with amusement. Agnes was exactly what Sarah had needed, she only wished she had had her when Benjamin was screaming the walls down on Second Avenue with colic, but they couldn't have afforded her then anyway. Now everything was different. And as Ollie had predicted, it was all surprisingly easy.
Sarah didn't have to make breakfast anymore. She didn't have to make dinner anymore. She didn't vacuum or clean or do laundry. They had a cleaning woman twice a week, and the miraculous Agnes. She was happy living in a tiny little room they built onto what had once been a deck, outside the guest room, which was now the baby's bedroom. And day and night, he was surrounded by his sister checking up on him, his brother bringing him baseball mitts and footballs, Sarah, Oliver, and Agnes. And amazingly, he did not become a spoiled brat, but instead, he was a remarkably pleasant child, who remained the joy of the house, and brought sunshine into everyone's life around him. The nightmare of the child that would destroy Sarah's life never materialized, but by the same token he provided her no excuses. He needed no special extra time, he caused no trouble in school, he was just as happy to play with Agnes or Melissa as he was with her, or most especially Benjamin or his father, and Sarah had no excuse now.
And before she knew it, Benjamin was suddenly seventeen and in his last year of high school, Melissa fifteen and permanently grafted to a telephone she would drag inexplicably into an upstairs closet, to sit huddled on the floor amid old ski clothes to speak to boys no one had ever heard of, and Sam was nine, content to play in his own room, busy with his own routine, and
singularly undemanding of his mother's attention—all of which left Sarah with no reason whatsoever why she couldn't write. She couldn't blame the blank pages or the silence of the typewriter on the children.
And as she sat watching the snow fall, she wondered what she would say to Ollie. She wished he wouldn't ask her how the writing was going. For almost two years now, he had evidenced sincere concern and it was driving her crazy. She couldn't tell him that nothing was coming, that it was going nowhere, that at forty-one her worst fears had come true. Her life really was over. She had never felt so stale and old and tired, and this time she knew she wasn't pregnant. As promised, and agreed, she had had her tubes tied years before, after Sam's arrival. This was something very different. This was the slow, demoralizing realization that your life is going nowhere, that the dreams you had at twenty had dissipated years before and were very likely never real in the first place. She was never going to be a writer now. At thirty-five, knowing that would have destroyed her, at thirty-nine, it might have killed her. At forty-one, it filled her with sadness. There was nothing left now, except the ordinariness of her life, while Ollie climbed to greatness. It was an odd feeling. Even her children were more important than she was. Everyone had something going in their lives. Benjamin was an outstanding athlete and a terrific student. Melissa was incredibly artistic and, surprisingly, a real beauty. She talked about becoming an actress sometimes, and both she and Benjamin talked about Harvard. Sam sang with the choir and had the voice of an angel, but more than that, he had the soul of someone so warm and dear that the whole world loved him. And what did she have? The children. Ol-lie. The house. The fact that she'd gone to Radcliffe twenty years before. So what? Who cared? Who knew? Who remembered? She had only one hope left, and even that was a slim one, another slice of unreality in her pie of nothingness. There was no way she could do it anyway. How? She lived here. They needed her. Or did they? They had Agnes … but she couldn't do that to Ollie … She smiled sadly to herself as Agnes let the dog out and he bounded through the snow, barking and leaping. They were all so happy. All of them. Even Agnes. But why did she feel so empty? What was gone? What had she lost? What had she never had? What did she want now? Something. Everything. She wanted all of it. Fame. Success. Fulfillment. Big stuff. Big guns. And she knew she would never have it. She would sit here forever, watching the snow fall, while life passed her by, and Ollie brought in new clients. She had her own Mercedes now, she had two fur coats. She had three terrific children, thanks to Ollie's persistence, and one fantastic husband, and nothing of her own that mattered. No talent. No accomplishment. It was all gone now. The girl that she had been was gone forever.
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