“Veronica, let them go. They don’t have anything to do with us.”
“‘Us,’ Mark? So there’s an ‘us’ now? It was hard to tell, what with the not answering my calls a hundred times.”
“I don’t feel so good,” Abby said, looking paler by the second. “I think I’m gonna hurl.”
Ignoring Abby, Mark prevaricated, “I was going to call you, Veronica, I swear. I was just waiting for the right moment,” he said lamely.
“Like when the big hand hit ‘Freezes Over’ on the clock in Hell?” she spat back.
“Oh my God, oh my God,” Abby moaned. Ben rubbed the back of her neck to soothe her.
“Fuck you Mark, you lying sack of shit!” Veronica shouted.
And with that, Abby made good on her promise and lurching forward proceeded to vomit copiously on the library rug, as poor Ben held her hair for her.
In an odd moment of unanimous consensus, everyone grimaced with disgust.
Trying to focus her vision on the Veronica in the middle, Abby slurred, “Dya mind if I lie down somewhere? I’m gonna boot again if I don’t.”
“Gross!” Veronica bleated, and pointing to the window seat said, “Over there, where I can keep an eye on you.”
“I’ve seen you in Vogue — you’re Armani’s favorite model, right?” Rachel said quietly. Mark mentally applauded her calm approach to distracting Veronica.
“What is your point? Are we friends?” she asked sarcastically.
“You’re much more beautiful in person, that’s all.” Rachel said, hoping to mollify Veronica and diffuse her anger.
Veronica hesitated, “Thank you. Nice of you to say that, especially under the circumstances.” Then she turned to Mark and asked acridly, “What about you, Mark? Do you find me more beautiful in person?” As she spoke, she lowered the purse, and took out the pistol, waving it in front of her. Not waiting for Mark to answer, her attention was once again drawn to Jane.
“You,” she spat at Jane, “yah, you. What’s the deal with the costume? Are you trying to look like me?”
“No,” Jane stuttered, “I’m supposed to be the Queen of the Damned.”
“Exactly my point,” Veronica muttered.
As Veronica looked more intently at Jane, she recognized her dress, “That’s Phoebe Rich’s Donatella Versace design. I remember it distinctly,” she sneered at Mark. “So, you don’t know these people, huh?”
Mark started to rise, but Veronica quickly pointed the gun at Jane and commanded, “Sit your ass down, or I’ll pump your girlfriend,” she yelled.
Mark quickly resumed his seat. “What do you want of me, Veronica?”
“Much” she imitated Marley’s ghost in The Christmas Carol and seeing Mark’s blank expression, sneered, “Shit. Read much, Ebenezer?”
“Please just let them go,” Mark pleaded.
“Wrong thing to say, Mark. Whatever you want to protect, I want to hurt. My guess is that Suzy Veronica Wannabe here is your new girl. Why else would Phoebe put her in Versace? You’re such an idiot, Mark. I’m a model, asshole, if there’s one thing I know it’s fashion.”
Veronica slumped visibly, as if tired of her own charade. “You could have had me, Mark, the real Veronica. Why go to the trouble of dressing up some dumbass waitress?” she hissed.
Jane slid her wig off and put it on the gypsy table before saying, “I work here — I’m the barn manager. Mark was just being kind to me. The costume was Phoebe’s idea, that’s all.”
“For real?” Veronica retorted. “You’re the barn manager? Do you milk his cows or something?”
“Horse barn,” Jane said. “I take care of the horses. These are my friends. We came in here to take a breather from the party, and Mark just came in, too. There’s nothing more to it.”
“Oh, in that case, I’m really sorry,” Veronica said sarcastically, “but you still can’t go. I can’t have you calling the cops. Not yet.” Veronica glared at Mark, her voice rising, “Mark, I came here to kick every square inch of your extremely deserving ass. Phoebe told me you were a player and that you dumped every woman you ever dated, but I figured, ‘that won’t happen to me. I’m Veronica, for Chrissake.’ But I was wrong.”
“Veronica, I’m — ” Mark broke in.
“Shut the fuck up!” she shouted. “I’m not finished yet. You think you can just use me, get me pregnant — yes, that’s right, asshole, I’m pregnant — and walk away? Stand up, motherfucker!”
Mark stood up to take the bullet he believed she intended to deliver, when he saw Jane also jump up like lightening, hurling herself toward Veronica. Mark was able to grab her arm and swing her behind him, as she shouted, “Don’t shoot!”
“Hell yah! Mark,” Veronica said, impressed, “your staff is loyal. I’ll give you that.”
At that moment, Rachel snatched Jane’s wig from the table and threw it at Veronica, and Ben started to rush her. The wig was too lightweight to travel far and instead wafted for a short distance and fell short of its target. It did create some mischief, however, sailing just speedily enough to get tangled in Ben’s feet, tripping him, as he stormed toward Veronica.
At the same time, Mark was relieved to see Mac burst through the locked door like a wrecking ball. And when Veronica looked back, he rushed her. A chaos of arms and legs all intent on overcoming Veronica ensued. Everyone ran at her, and as Rachel screamed, “Look out!” the gun gave out a muffled explosion and flew out of Veronica’s hand as she was tackled. On the way down, she hit her head on the side table.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Outside the library, the swing band and the rock band were showing off their skills, and the energy of the party was at its peak. Almost no one, therefore, had heard the gun go off. And those few who had heard something did not recognize the noise as a shot. Two people had noticed Mac force the library door in, but they had assumed it was merely stuck and attached no interpretations of danger to it. The music played loudly, the wine flowed amply, and everyone in good humor noticed nothing awry.
A few euphoric partiers nearby peered into the library with mild curiosity at the apparent scuffle, but Mark went to the door quickly and shooed them back. “Everything okay?” a woman slurred as a few others loitered about with inquiringly raised eyebrows.
“Nothing to worry about,” Mark dissembled. “Madame Babushka threw a cherry bomb into the fireplace for fun. Just a Halloween prank. Bangin’ party, eh?” he added, as if crazy slang would derail further inquiry. Changing the subject, he added for lack of anything better to say, “Enjoy the party, folks.” Move along, now, nothing to see here. He picked up the pieces of the antique Windsor chair Mac splintered when he’d forced the door open.
Ben muttered apologetically to Mark, “Sorry, man. I didn’t mean to trip.”
Mark nodded and gave Ben an understanding look. “Next time there’s a gun pointed at us, I’m sure you’ll do better.”
Abby yawned broadly and then settled back down.
Mac looked at Mark earnestly, “She hit her head pretty good. We should call an ambulance.”
“We should call a cop,” Ben exclaimed, still frightened. “She held us at gunpoint!” Ben was neither a violent nor a vengeful man, but it was clear to Mark that his nerves were understandably rattled. An innate caretaker, he nonetheless picked up one of the martinis and sprinkled Veronica’s face with it and lightly rapped her cheeks to bring her around.
Mac ordered, “We’re takin’ her to the hospital, now. Mark, can you help me get her up?”
As they lifted her gently, Rachel picked up the gun, “This thing’s an antique, for God’s sake. The chambers are empty. I don’t think it was loaded. It’s hardly more than a cap gun.”
Veronica muttered, “I didn’t want to kill him. I wanted him to be afraid. Like I am. He should have just returned my calls. I�
�m pregnant with his kid,” she sobbed.
Mac looked sternly at Mark. “She’s got a point against you, there.”
They decided that they would all take Veronica to the hospital out the back door of the library and through the back hallway. “Veronica, can you walk?” Mark asked.
“My heart’s broken, not my legs,” she said bitterly.
They grabbed the nearest limo, telling the driver it was an emergency, and Mark gave directions for Somerset Medical Center.
Mark and Mac walked Veronica into the hospital while the others stayed in the car. Once admitted, Mac volunteered to stay, “You go back with the others and take care of the party, boss. I’ll call when we’re ready to leave.” Mark trudged back to the car. Would this night ever end?
When they were close to the farm, Jane asked wearily, “Would you mind just dropping me at the farmhouse, Mark? It’s late. The party’s over.”
“Abby’s done in too, Mark,” Ben observed. “Jane, I’ll help you and Rachel put her to bed.”
Mark wanted so badly to speak with Jane. He needed her to somehow help him through Veronica’s bombshell. Without Jane, he was lost. But he couldn’t think of any argument other than his own selfish need to persuade her to stay with him. He didn’t deserve her kindness or her forgiveness. Suddenly, the integrity he’d prattled about all his life seemed worthless. He’d been reckless. Irresponsible. He’d made a child with a woman whose last name he couldn’t remember, for God’s sake, for which he would pay dearly and not only in financial terms — that meant nothing to him. He’d created this child, and he would step up to the plate, no matter what that meant. How ironic all of his previous shilly-shallying about his freedom and his integrity seemed now. If Jane left him, well, she’d be well rid of him. It was for the best. I won’t drag her into this mess I’ve made. It’s my responsibility.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The party crowd had substantially thinned. He caught Phillips’ eye, and gestured for him to come to the library. Mark respected Phillips more than anyone he knew. When push came to shove, he valued Phillips’ counsel even more than that of his parents.
Mark registered the look on Phillips’ face as he entered the library, as he looked from the broken Windsor chair to Mark. Mark had no idea what to say or where to start. He had just come to the conclusion that he wanted a family with Jane, and now he was to be the father of Veronica’s child. Exhaling, he said more to himself than Phillips, “Have I always been a fool?” Then, looking directly at Phillips, he said, “I just found out from my ex-girlfriend that I’m going to be a father. With Jane, it would have all made sense. But Veronica … how am I going to be a father, Phillips, to a child whose mother I didn’t care for and barely knew? And, Jane … this will change everything for her, I have no doubt. How will I do this without her?”
“You’ll find a way, Mark, and Jane will find her way, too,” he said. But to Mark the words sounded like an accusation, and he felt a new pang of guilt and sorrow.
“Can I ask you a personal question, Phillips?” and when he nodded, “Are you happy?”
“Yes.” Phillips said. “My wife is my soul mate. I love my children. They fill my life with laughter and surprise.”
“Did you always want to be a family man, Phillips?”
“Of course not!” he acknowledged. “At twenty, I wanted to be a pilot. You knew I was in the Air Force before coming here, right? But my vision wasn’t sharp enough — astigmatism. So I had to give up that dream.”
“Do you regret the life you might have had?”
“Never. We only regret the absence of something when we feel empty. I feel full. Look at me, Mark. I’m dressed up like a pirate. I couldn’t have done that in the Air Force.”
“In a year or two,” Mark surmised, “I’ll be dancing about the place in a Santa Claus suit.”
“Yah, now there’s a visual,” Phillips laughed in sympathy adding, “You’re going to be a father. You didn’t seek it, didn’t plan for it. But there you have it, anyway. My advice? Throw yourself into your child’s life. Give every ounce of what’s inside of you. Commit, and have no regrets.”
“Even if it means looking ridiculous in a pirate costume?”
“Welcome to the Daddy Club,” Phillips commiserated.
“Thank you, Phillips.” Mark nodded admiringly. “I want to be like you when I grow up. Would you do me a kindness and ask my parents to come in to me? I can’t face anyone else just now.”
• • •
Mark wanted to tell his parents about Veronica’s pregnancy — carefully editing out her anger management issues. He’d hoped the news that Robert and Nora were to be grandparents would make them happy. But, as he thought it through, he couldn’t even tell them when to expect the happy event. Then he thought of all their questions — who was the mother, how had he met her, did he love her or intend to marry her, and a dozen other questions. And then there was Jane. How would he explain to them where Jane fit in, when he didn’t know himself any longer?
He was weary to the bone before he began. His parents, too, looked tired. Surely it would be a kindness to tell them tomorrow, to prepare to be happy for their sakes if not for his own. It was selfish to tell them tonight, to seek their comfort for his fears. He sacrificed his desire to once more be their son, their child, to let them solve this problem for him, as if he’d skinned his knee or failed an algebra test. For one last time, he yearned to be their son and not someone else’s father. But he did not give into it.
As they waited for him to speak, Nora nervously glanced at Robert and finally broke the silence. “Mark, what is it, dear? You’re scaring me. Are you in some kind of trouble?”
“No, I’m not in any trouble. I just wanted you to know how much I love you. I don’t think I’ve ever told you or not often enough, anyway.”
Nora, visibly relieved, leaned over and hugged Mark as she hadn’t done since he was twelve. “That’s sweet of you to say, isn’t it Robert?” Robert, far less sentimental than Nora, nodded.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Mark rose with the first light of dawn. He needed to see Jane. He gathered the girls’ bags, and jackets. He waited for as long as he could, but at seven A.M., he went to the farmhouse. He knocked lightly, and Rachel answered in her nightgown and bare feet.
“Jane’s gone, Mark.” Rachel said. “She must have left shortly after we all went to bed. I woke up before dawn and felt something strange, so I came down to the kitchen. She left a note saying that she needed to get away to think. She asked me to make sure the horses were taken care of. She said that if Mac were still at the hospital with Veronica, you’d know what to do. She didn’t say where she was going.”
“Do you know where she went, Rachel? Can you feel anything?” Mark pleaded.
“I don’t know where her mother lives, Mark, but I’m guessing that’s where she went.”
“I’ll find her. What’s her mother’s name?”
“Mom,” Rachel prevaricated, and then relented, “I think it’s Emily. But Mark, don’t track her. She needs to work things out for herself. I feel that much strongly. You need to honor her decision and trust her. I know that’s hard.” And handing him a second note, “This is for you,” she said and watched Mark silently as he read:
Dear Mark,
I’m sorry to take the coward’s way and leave like this. But I need to think about what Veronica’s news means. You’re going to be a father. You will need to make a lot of decisions. Things have moved at light speed for us, Mark, and I need to slow down. Please don’t try to find me. I’ll call when I’ve sorted things out.
Love,
Jane.
Mark’s expression fell. He shoved the note in his pocket. Rachel looked with the utmost compassion at him. “I wish I knew what to say, Mark. Do you want to talk? Would you like some coffee?” Mark thank
ed her, but bolted out of the farmhouse, a place so recently filled with happy memories. He was visibly shaken.
• • •
“I’m sorry,” the doctor said to a disappointed and tearful Veronica as she lay in the narrow hospital bed, “but you are not pregnant. Home pregnancy tests are ninety-seven percent reliable, but there are occasional false positives.”
She rubbed her arms and shivered, “Well, now everyone will know all about ‘crazy Veronica’ who thought she was pregnant and brandished a goddamn art object at her scornful lover,” she looked sorrowfully at the young intern, “Strangely, I don’t care anymore.”
“I called for a car,” Mac announced as he poked his head in the door. Something in his kindness melted the knot inside of her, and she began sobbing uncontrollably. Mac went over to the bed and sat down awkwardly, patting her shoulder as the intern left and she released her pain.
“What am I going to do?” she repeated often, shaking through her tears. “There is no baby. I made a fool of myself for nothing.”
Mac held her like a rock, and comforted her as best he could.
• • •
Jane opened her eyes gradually as the first light of dawn began to show its dull gray light. She’d left the farmhouse as soon as everyone was settled in and called her mother from her landline to let her know she was on the way.
It took a minute for Jane to remember where she was, in her childhood bedroom, in her little single bed. Her mother would sleep much later than she, having worked late at the restaurant the night before and then staying up to wait for Jane to arrive. Jane had been trying to persuade her mother for the last three months to quit her waitressing job. She and her brothers were long gone from the house. And they all chipped in to help Mom with her expenses. But at sixty, Emily still wanted to work. “What would I do?” she asked. “Take classes — at my age? Work is what I do, Jane. Just let it be.” Jane gave up trying to convince her and consoled herself that at least her mother wasn’t working double shifts anymore.
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