A Woman's Place

by Barbara Delinsky

  Jenovitz shrugged with an eyebrow.

  “So things were tense between us. I was seeing a side of him that I hadn’t known existed. We were arguing a lot—and that included the night he came home from work and I told him I was pregnant.” Now that the door had been opened, I recalled the scene well. “The first thing he did was to blame me for getting pregnant, like I’d done it alone. The next thing he did was to say that there wasn’t anything wrong with our relationship, other than problems I’d seen fit to magnify. Then, he suggested that if I didn’t want the baby, I should get an abortion. So if you want to be technical, he was the one who said it first, not me.”

  “But you made the arrangements.”

  “Yes. After a month’s anguish, nights and nights of debating it, and finally agreeing that it was the sensible thing to do. I made the arrangements, because I was the one with the ob-gyn man, but Dennis came with me when I had the procedure.” I was fast organizing my thoughts. “So if you think that an abortion thirteen-plus years ago says something about the kind of mother I am today, I have to point out that Dennis was as much a party to it as I was. If having an abortion says something about me, it says the same thing about Dennis. More. After Kikit was born, he had a vasectomy. What does that say about a desire to parent?”

  “A vasectomy and an abortion are two very different things. A vasectomy prevents conception, an abortion kills what has already been conceived.”

  I was sorry I’d mentioned it, and held up a hand. “Don’t let’s argue that. The issue here is parenting. Neither thing—abortion or vasectomy—has any bearing on what kind of parents Dennis and I are.”

  “Then why did you mention the vasectomy?”

  “Because you mentioned the abortion! And,” I added, “because it was something Dennis did all on his own. I found out about it two days before he had it done, after he’d seen the doctor, made the appointment, committed himself to it emotionally. What does that say about Dennis? And what about that affair he had? If it was so serious as to warrant blackmail, it must have really been something. What does that say about Dennis?”

  “Good grief, you’re belligerent.”

  “You people have made me belligerent. I wouldn’t have mentioned that affair on my own. It was over and done years ago, just like the abortion. I wouldn’t have thought that abortion had any relevance to what’s happening today, but you apparently do, since you raised it. So am I supposed to sit here without speaking? There are two sides to every story. Am I supposed to hold mine in? Am I supposed to say nothing while you draw conclusions that aren’t true? Am I supposed to do nothing when my husband comes in here and lies? I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask for any of it. Belligerent? Hell, yes. I’m fighting for my kids, Dr. Jenovitz. How else should I be?”

  It took me three tries before I reached Dennis, and then he wasn’t at the house or the office, but in his car. I was too angry to bother with a hello, but launched straight into, “I just came from meeting with Jenovitz. What possessed you to dig up those medical records?”

  “What medical records?” Dennis asked, but his question was barely out when Kikit was yelling toward the phone from the back seat.

  “Mommy? Is that you? Hi, Mommy. Guess what? I’m singing a solo at the Thanksgiving assembly. You’re coming, aren’t you? It’s the Tuesday before Thanksgiving, or maybe the Monday, I don’t know, but you have to be there.”

  I heard a click, then Dennis’s voice more clearly as he took the phone in his hand. “What medical records?”

  “The ones that had to do with the abortion—”

  “Sit still, Clara Kate,” Dennis said away from the phone. “You’ll talk with her when I’m done.”

  “I had that abortion years ago,” I said. I was in my car, still in the parking lot by Jenovitz’s building. “It has nothing to do with what kind of mother I am today, or what kind of father you are. That abortion was a joint decision. Okay, you didn’t want it at first, but neither did I.”

  “Keep quiet, Kikit!” Dennis yelled. “I can’t hear a word she’s saying!”

  “I didn’t want it at all, but our marriage was iffy, and if we’d gotten divorced, that child would have suffered. You knew that as well as I did. Not to mention the gall of raising that whole thing, without telling Jenovitz the cause of the problems between us. Fine to paint me the villain and you the saint. Well, I told him, Dennis. I told him about Adrienne.”

  “You said that was irrelevant.”

  “So was the abortion! If that says something about me, your affair with Adrienne says something about you. You don’t seem to get it, Dennis. I want the kids. I’ll do things I would never otherwise do to get them back.”

  “For the record,” Dennis said in a surprisingly quiet voice, “I didn’t get those files.”

  “Then who did? Art Heuber? Or was it Phoebe? How would either of them have known to go after medical records, if not because you told them? Did you tell them about Adrienne, too?”

  “That was a long time ago.”

  “So was the abortion!”

  “Kikit! Here, Claire. I can’t take this. Talk to your daughter.”

  “Mommy, are we going to the circus on Saturday? You said you had to make sure it was okay with Daddy.” There was a pause, then, “Why not, Daddy? No, I won’t eat something I’m not supposed to. No, I haven’t been sick every night this week. I just say that sometimes. Everyone else in my whole class is going. Same with Johnny’s. Can we? But we have to decide now, not later.” To me, defiantly, “I’m going, Mommy. I don’t care what Daddy says.” A quick breath. “Mommy, when am I gonna see you? I have stuff to show you.”

  I had seen her the afternoon before, but it seemed like an age to me, too. I needed this separation over and done—which was a sobering thought if ever there was one, because I couldn’t help but fear that by arguing with the GAL, I had only prolonged it.

  I didn’t have an appointment with Carmen, but I was upset enough to go to her office without one. I was shown into a conference room to wait. By the time she joined me, I was as angry with myself as I was with Dennis.

  “I blew it,” I said after I told her what had happened. “I should have been humble, should have been apologetic, should have talked of regrets. But I was furious—still am, at Jenovitz for wanting to judge me as a mother now by something that happened so long ago, at Dennis for lying. I’m sorry, Carmen. I’ve made things worse. But I couldn’t just sit there without defending myself. So,” I held my middle, “is it over? Will I lose the kids?”

  “No,” Carmen said. “We have other irons in the fire. This morning I filed for the interlocutory appeal. We should get a hearing scheduled by week’s end.” But she looked worried.

  “I know. Interlocutory appeals are rarely granted. But then there’s hope with the federal suit, isn’t there?”

  “Yes, but it’ll take more time. Jenovitz may still be our fastest bet.” She was frowning. “You’re right. An abortion so long ago has nothing to do with what kind of mother you are now. I don’t know why Jenovitz brought it up.”

  “He doesn’t like me. We got off on the wrong foot, and it’s gone downhill.” My fears broke free. “He’s going to recommend against me. I can feel it. When he finally makes his recommendation. Every time I ask when he’s planning to talk with the children, he says he isn’t ready. I thought maybe he was done with me after today, but he says he wants another meeting, so he set it up for two weeks from today because he’ll be away all next week. Two weeks from today is three days before Thanks-giving. If he hasn’t even set up a meeting with the kids, but wants more meetings with Dennis and me, how can he talk with them and file a report with the court by the end of the month? One way or another, I’ve been counting on this all being done by then.” I could feel hysteria rising. What Carmen said next didn’t help.

  “It may take longer. The court will give Jenovitz extra time if he needs it.”

  “How much extra time?”

  “Two more months?” B
rody echoed when I told him what Carmen had said. He was just as disbelieving as I had been, just as incensed. “Ninety days to decide whether you’re fit to take care of your kids? That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard. Anyone with any common sense wouldn’t need nine days. What in the hell is the man doing?”

  We were in my workroom. I had come here after returning from Boston. Since Brody had been out running, I had thought to work on the wicker rocker and table, but, in the end, had been too upset to do a thing. Neither the scent of warm wood and age, nor the texture of the weave beneath my hand, offered solace. Before me stood the two pieces, both chock-full of holes where I had removed broken reeds.

  I went to the window and stared out at the night. Feeling very small just then, I said, “I don’t understand. The first court order was dead wrong, but we can’t seem to change it. Carmen’s doing what she can, I’m doing what I can, but nothing’s working. Two more months—I don’t know if I can make it. Even aside from not seeing the kids and not seeing Mom, there’s this feeling of senselessness, and injustice, and anger. It eats at me.”

  Brody approached. He didn’t touch me, but I felt him. His warmth was a lifeline.

  “Ironic, how things come full circle,” I remarked. “At the time of that abortion, I was terrified of having a child. I kept thinking that Dennis and I would divorce, and that I’d end up like my mother with a baby and nothing else. So the divorce part’s finally coming true. Wouldn’t it be something if I lose my kids now, because I didn’t want kids then?”

  His hand was a whisper against my ear as he tucked back a wisp of hair. “You won’t lose the kids. Not in the end.”

  My fingertips gripped the mullion. “I want to believe that. But these things keep happening to set me back, and my hands are tied. I need to do something.” I thought of an earlier talk with Jenovitz. “So maybe I am controlling.” I looked up at Brody. “Am I controlling?”

  “You’ve never controlled me, not in any negative way.”

  “You’re strong. You wouldn’t allow it. But Dennis isn’t strong. Maybe I did control him. I keep thinking back to those times he suggested we separate. Keep remembering those discussions. I argued that we had too many good things going for us, that I loved him, and that there were the kids to consider. He would always say things like, ‘The good things aren’t there anymore,’ and I would say, ‘But they can be,’ and they were, for a little while after each talk. Things were better. We both tried. Maybe me more than him, because I was the one who really didn’t want a divorce. So, am I a controlling person?”

  “No. Dennis could have argued more. He could have stuck to his guns. He could have moved out. You didn’t chain him to the house.”

  “Well,” I sighed into the quiet night, “when he finally acted, he finally acted.”

  “In more ways than one,” Brody said.

  My eyes flew to his.

  His voice was low, possibly to soften the blow, possibly in anger. “The thing about Dennis wanting into WickerWise? You were right. He wants in, so that he can turn around and sell it. He’s already negotiated to buy into another business.”

  My jaw dropped.

  “Pittney Communications. It is a telecommunications company in Springfield, small but growing. One of its major players died last July. The widow is looking to sell his share. If we want to make the argument that Dennis launched this divorce when he did for the sake of the money, the timing is right. He met with the surviving partners for the first time late in August.”

  “We were visiting Mom late in August. He flew back early to fish.”

  “He was fishing, all right, but not for trout.”

  I had thought myself past the point of being hurt, but I was wrong.

  Brody must have sensed it. “Look,” he hedged, “maybe he didn’t go with the idea of buying into it himself, but was thinking of putting a group together. Telecommunications companies are hot. The market has mushroomed.”

  But we both knew the truth. I wanted it out in the open, wanted to deal with it, hurt or no hurt. Too often in the past I had looked at my life through a narrow tunnel of my own making. I had left myself a sitting duck for Dennis’s backroom machinations. But no more.

  “Pittney’s for him,” I said. “The timing says so. He had been talking to his lawyers for months by then. He was probably biding his time, waiting for the right business to open. If it hadn’t been August, it would have been later, if not Springfield, another place.” Dennis had been scheming, and I hadn’t sensed a thing. Where had I been?

  But agonizing over my shortcomings wouldn’t help now. “He’s barking up the wrong tree,” I vowed. “WickerWise isn’t his to sell.”

  “What if he offers a swap, half-ownership for custody of the kids?”

  Kikit and Johnny were my heart and soul. WickerWise meant a lot to me, but not that much. I could live without WickerWise. I couldn’t live without the kids.

  “If it’s just the money he wants,” I said, “I’ll give it to him.”

  “Half the net worth of WickerWise? That’s how much he needs to buy a piece of Pittney. You’d have to take out huge loans to come up with that amount.”

  “I can do it.”

  “Besides,” Brody added in a way that definitely suggested anger, “it could be that the money alone isn’t it. It’s the satisfaction he’ll have forcing you to sell WickerWise.”

  “I’m not selling.” I was starting to feel cornered. “Carmen will negotiate. What Heuber suggested is only a starting point.” But I didn’t have much room for maneuvering where the children were concerned. Dennis had me over a barrel.

  I had to do something.

  Brody touched my hair lightly again, then moved away. I turned and watched him. He went to the loft stairs, sat on a rung, and stretched out his legs.

  “Talk to me, Brody,” I begged.

  “You had doubts. Way back when. You were never completely sure that Adrienne’s blackmail stopped at infidelity. You always suspected something more.”

  “Did you?”

  He shrugged. “I used to hear things. Not often. Never firsthand or factual. People wondered, that’s all. Dennis hit the big time real quick. His performance since then has been mediocre. There’s been nothing to validate that early brilliance.”

  Old thoughts. Long-buried fears. Suspicions set aside for the sake of the marriage.

  I drew in a deep, shuddering breath.

  “Maybe I’m wrong to bring it up,” Brody said, “but he’s screwing you over, Claire. I don’t think I’ll ever forgive him for that.”

  “What if it’s Phoebe who’s calling the shots?” I asked. In spite of everything, there was still a part of me that wanted a fall guy other than Dennis. “What if he isn’t solely to blame?”

  “He’s a big boy. If he’s letting Phoebe call the shots, he should be doubly ashamed. You were his wife for fifteen years. Where’s his respect? Where’s his loyalty? If Phoebe is suggesting these things, he should be vetoing them. Since he isn’t, he shares the responsibility.”

  I knew in my gut Brody was right. I also knew that if Dennis was simply going along with what Phoebe said, it wasn’t out of character. He had gone along with what I said for years, hadn’t spoken up, hadn’t taken the lead. He was a follower.

  Funny, that was what I had said way back when. Adrienne Hadley had led, he had followed; she was the spider, he the fly. I had hoped he had developed more backbone since then. Either I was wrong and he was still following, or the ill will toward me was his and his alone.

  The problem was that things were different now from how they were way back when. Now I had the children to consider. Playing dirty wasn’t my first choice. But what other leverage did I have?

  I approached Brody. Sitting on the loft stairs, he was on eye level with me. I came between his legs and looped my arms around his neck.

  He didn’t speak, just looked at me. I couldn’t even see the question in his eyes. If he wanted to know what I’d decided, it didn’
t show. All that showed was concern.

  I came in even closer.

  “Give me a hug,” I whispered. “I need fortification.” When his arms went around me, I kissed him once, then again. I closed my eyes for the third kiss, and concentrated on the feel of his mouth and his taste. It was probably the most unconditionally pleasant thing I had done since that kiss at the airport the day before. So I indulged myself. It struck me that unconditionally pleasant things had been few and far between in my life.

  Not that I was deprived. Far from it. I had had plenty of pleasure, but nothing like this. This was smooth and soft. It was sweet. Secret. Special.

  Dennis said I was a lousy lover. Brody said I was the best. No words. Just response. The way he breathed. The way he touched me, the way everything about him begged for more. Yet he was so unrushed in his hunger that I knew he took the same pleasure in the moment that I did.

  So I let it linger, dragged it out until I was the one ready to beg for more. A storm raged inside, a great tempest in my womb. The need was so strong it was frightening.

  But the ramifications were, too.

  I took several breaths and waited for the shakes to ease. Then I rested my chin on his shoulder and just let myself be held, because there was unconditional pleasure in that, too. No rules. No strings. Just the feel of Brody’s body and the knowledge of his love.

  It amazed me that I had been so close to him all these years, without having this. “I must have been blind,” I whispered.

  “No,” he whispered back, on my wavelength as always. “Just married.”

  And still was, which brought me full circle, back to the dilemma I faced. I indulged myself in Brody for another minute, then drew back. “Gotta run. Gotta think.”

  “Gotta eat, too. How about dinner?”

  I smiled, but I was backing away. “I’ll munch at home.”

  “On what?”

  “Frosted Flakes.”

  “Come on over to the house. I’ll make you a real dinner.”