by Terri DuLong
Lucas was quiet again for a few moments and then said, “I see.”
I felt I was treading into an area where perhaps we disagreed. “So you don’t want children at all? You and your wife made a decision not to have any? And you’re comfortable with this?”
“No, no. That isn’t what I said, Grace. I just said I didn’t think I’d have any. And you ... if you were not in a relationship, would you consider an alternative means to have a child?”
I swung my legs to the side of the lounge in order to face him better. “You mean like a sperm donor?”
He nodded, and in that moment I knew immediately that, yes, as my biological clock ticked away, I would consider this option. I cleared my throat. “I haven’t given this any serious thought, but yes ... I certainly would not rule out the possibility.”
I saw the look of surprise that crossed his face. “So you’re prepared to raise a child alone, with that child growing up to never know who the father is? You’ve considered all the aspects, not just for yourself but for the child as well? And do you not consider this to be a bit selfish on your part? The child, of course, has no choice. But in order to fulfill this longing that you say you have ... you’re willing to deprive a child of its father?”
Frankly, I had considered very little because only in the past few minutes had sperm donation seemed a realistic option, but what was totally baffling to me was Lucas’s reaction to all of it. While I couldn’t say he was displaying anger, it was apparent that he was upset with my thoughts on the subject.
And while I wasn’t exactly angry, I did feel myself leaning toward irritation that a man I hadn’t even made love with should be upset about how I might choose to produce a child.
Dropping his hand, I stood up, letting the afghan fall to the lounge. “Actually, Lucas, I don’t think we should discuss this any further. And I’m very sorry I raised the subject at all. It’s getting late and I think I need to get home.”
Lucas jumped up and pulled me into his arms. “I’m sorry,” he whispered into my neck. “I had no right to say what I did. Please forgive me.”
“There’s nothing to forgive. You’re entitled to your own opinions.”
“But I’ve upset you and I didn’t intend to do that. Please, stay and have a glass of wine with me.”
“No, I really need to get home. I’m not upset with you.”
“I’ll walk you,” he said, taking my hand and leading me into the house.
“That’s not necessary, Lucas. Really. I’ll be fine walking the short distance.”
“Please. Allow me to do this.”
I reached for my handbag on the sofa and nodded. “Okay,” I said, heading to the door.
Both of us remained silent as we walked along F Street. Lucas followed me up the stairs to the deck. As I reached for the doorknob, he turned me toward him and pulled me into an embrace.
“I like you, Grace. I hope you know how much I like you,” he said, as his lips found mine.
I returned his kiss as my mind filled with the thought, You like me? But you consider me a selfish person if I were to bring a child into this world by artificial means.
“Good night, Lucas,” I said, and walked inside, leaving him standing on the deck.
19
I had awoken earlier than Suellen the following morning, and she found me at seven o’clock sitting on the back deck, sipping my coffee. In a total funk.
“Good morning,” she said cheerily as she pulled up a chair to join me.
“Hmm,” was my only reply.
“Or not. What’s up?”
I let out a deep sigh. “I’m beginning to think I’m just not destined to have a partner in this lifetime.”
“Uh-oh! Trouble with Lucas?”
“More like trouble with me, I think. We had a bit of a heated discussion last night after you left,” I said, and went on to fill Suellen in on the details.
“Gosh, I never knew you were considering sperm donation,” she said, with surprise in her voice.
“I’m not. Well, I didn’t think I was. I’ve never given it much conscious thought at all ... until last night. The idea just seemed to pop into my head, and the thing is, I’m not sure at all if I’d seriously consider something like that.”
“Oh ... I see,” was all Suellen said.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, maybe it’s not the subject of sperm donation that irritated you as much as the fact that Lucas seems to be totally against it. In other words, he wasn’t supportive at all, nor did he consider the fact that you’re free to make a choice like that if you want to.”
“So you think I’m being stubborn about it?”
“I didn’t say that. Grace, you’ve always lived your life on your terms. Which is only natural. When there’s no husband or partner involved, any choices you do make are completely yours. But ... that changes when you allow somebody else to share your life. It’s called compromise. You’re not used to this. Even with Beau, you have to admit, you were your own person due to the circumstances, and he knew that even if he disagreed with you on something, bottom line was that he had no rights to object or interfere.”
Maybe Suellen had a point. “And ... I liked it that way.”
“For the most part, I think you did. But when you got pregnant, all of that changed. At least it should have. You didn’t even tell him you were pregnant and you were three months along. Technically, he had a right to know. Any decisions should have been shared together.”
“And they weren’t,” I said quietly. “Well, it was a bad situation with him being married. I didn’t want to back him into a corner. Any input from him would have been limited, and besides, I was going to tell him that weekend. I had just needed time to figure out what I was doing.”
“That’s my point, Grace. You wanted to solve the problem first before sharing any of it with Beau.”
I took a sip of coffee while digesting what Suellen had said. “But wait a sec. The relationship I had with Beau and what I have with Lucas are way different. I mean, God, I really don’t even know what I have with Lucas, beyond being friends. So why shouldn’t I be entitled to have thoughts about sperm donation? And he pretty much said he’s not interested in ever having a child of his own, so ...”
“That’s the point I’m trying to make,” Suellen cut in. “You just got all annoyed with him because he didn’t seem to understand where you were coming from. You didn’t take the time to go more in-depth on his feelings or why he feels the way he does. I’m not saying you could change his mind. I’m just saying maybe you should have given a little more consideration to discussion rather than forming your own conclusions.”
“Which brings me back to the fact that maybe I’m better off alone. There’s certainly no rule books for the great and lasting relationship. Maybe it’s just luck, and right about now I feel mine’s a quart short.”
Suellen stood up laughing and leaned down to give me a hug. “Hey, you’ve always been an optimist. Don’t change now. I’m going to hop in the shower. Have to be at the coffee café for ten.” Just before walking inside, she paused to look at me. “Anything you want me to say to Lucas for you?”
“Yeah, tell him I think Frenchmen are hardheaded.”
“Right,” Suellen said. “I won’t say a thing to him.”
Later that afternoon I was upstairs in the loft of the carriage house checking on e-mails when I heard Aunt Maude holler to me from below.
“Time for a break?”
I looked down to see her place a tray with teacups and cookies onto the table.
“Sounds good,” I said, logging off the computer and going down to join her.
“How’s it going with the bookings?” she asked, passing me a mug of tea.
“Great. We’re now getting some inquiries for next fall. I have to say, I thought we’d do well, but even I’m surprised at how our weekend retreats are catching on. I think a lot of it is word of mouth. Women telling women.”
“Th
ere’s a lot to be said for that. We’re a powerful force, you know,” she said, with a smile on her face.
“Do you think sometimes women can be too self-sufficient?”
My aunt looked surprised by my question. “Well, I’m not sure I know what you mean. In which way?”
“You were part of the sixties rebellion by women. You know, burning bras and all that. Fighting for equal rights. Do you think it was worth it?”
Aunt Maude took a sip of tea before answering. “I’m not sure about the bra burning,” she said, laughing, and then her tone grew serious. “But yes, I’ve always felt women should be considered equal in all ways. The same way that I feel that ethnic groups should be equal. It shouldn’t matter the color of your skin or where your ancestors came from. All of us, as human beings, should be judged on our character. On our potential. On who we are inside .”
I nibbled on an oatmeal cookie. “So you don’t think a woman can be too strong? In her values or convictions?”
“As long as she’s not hurting anybody else? No, I don’t think she can be too strong. You have to remember, Grace, women only got the right to vote in 1920. I’m still appalled when I think that prior to then, women were not even supposed to have their own political views, and if they did, they were forbidden to exercise them. So yes, I feel women are fully entitled to stand by their views and convictions. But what brought up this subject?”
“Oh ... I’ve just been giving some thought to various things.” I took a sip of tea before going on. “How do you feel about sperm donation? About a single woman using that as a means to have a child?”
I saw the look of surprise that covered my aunt’s face, but not a trace of it was revealed in her words. “I think it’s entirely up to the woman involved. It must be her decision—like any other decision involving the woman’s body.”
“So you wouldn’t be against it?”
My aunt laughed. “For myself? Most definitely. My childbearing days are over. But no, of course not. I’m not here to judge other females and what may be right for them.”
“Are you sorry you never had children?” I knew I was heading toward a discussion my aunt and I had never had. Not because of my aunt’s reluctance to discuss subjects with me. That was something she made sure I understood as a child—no subject was taboo, and she would always be honest with me, but up until this very moment I had never been concerned about her personal life.
“Ah, that’s a tricky question, Grace. Yes and no. Until your parents died, I think I was sorry. But maybe sorry is the wrong word. I think perhaps wistful is a better word. I certainly had a full life, with the antique business and all the travel involved, but I’d wonder if maybe in my old age I’d be lonely. Yes, I always had you and Chloe, but I knew you’d grow up and have your own lives, and that’s when it occurred to me so would my own child. And then your parents were killed and I had you with me full time, so I never gave it another thought.”
I never knew this about my aunt, which made me realize there were other things I also didn’t know. “How about a man in your life? I mean, I can’t ever recall you going out on a date when I was little, and I know you didn’t when I came to live with you permanently.”
My aunt remained quiet for a few moments, and I worried that maybe I’d overstepped my bounds with this question.
But she reached over and squeezed my hand before saying, “Maybe the time has come to tell you my story. We all have a story, Grace. I’ve always felt that to not have a story is to not live life, and I did live my life to the fullest. I still do. Every single day.” She reached up to secure a pin in her French twist before going on. “You’re right. I didn’t date when you were little. I didn’t see the need to ... because I had lost the love of my life eleven years before you were born.”
“What?” I gasped. “I never heard about this. Did my parents know?”
My aunt shook her head. “No, the only one who knew was my very close friend, Bonita.”
“I remember her,” I said, as I recalled the exotic-looking stylish woman with mocha-colored skin. “She passed away when I was about ten.”
“She did, and I’ve missed her every day since then. She developed cancer, and within a year she was gone. Actually, my story begins with Bonita. She was a black girl from Savannah and came from a fairly well-to-do family—her father owned a company that dealt with European antiques, and of course your father owned the antique business I worked for in Brunswick, so that’s how I came to meet Bonita. Your father also had a shop in Savannah, and I pretty much ran that one and relocated there in the late fifties. Bonita and I became instant friends. It was a difficult time in the South between blacks and whites, but because of her father’s business and social standings it was a little easier for Bonita. She invited me to their lovely home for dinner and that’s how I met Oliver—her brother.”
“Oh, wow. So you fell in love with her brother? A black man?”
My aunt nodded. “People joke about love at first sight—but I can attest to the fact, there truly is such a thing. From the moment we met ... we knew.”
“I can only imagine how difficult that was for both of you because of racism.”
“Exactly. Oliver was a wonderful musician. Extremely gifted. He played the saxophone. During the day, he worked in the family business, but he was able to fulfill his passion in the evenings when he played at various clubs and hotels. One of his favorites was the Partridge Inn in Augusta, Georgia. So Bonita and I would book there for each weekend he was appearing, and in the Savannah area we were always at a front table wherever he was playing.”
“And he was the love of your life? What happened? Was it the difference in race that caused you to separate?”
“No, although that made our love much more difficult as far as trying to arrange time alone together. We were very discreet because we knew the problems a white woman and a black man could cause, especially in the South in the early sixties. We were fortunate though—because of the business in both of our families, we were able to travel to Paris a lot, where color didn’t matter. We would spend weeks at a time there together—allowed to be who we really were, simply a couple in love. Paris was where I’d grown up, so I truly felt at home there, especially with Oliver. We had been together four years when he asked me to marry him. We were going to reside permanently in Paris, where we would be accepted. He knew he could run an office for the business there and also continue his passion for music by playing the jazz clubs that were so popular. However ... it didn’t work out that way. It was 1964 and he was drafted to go to Vietnam—where he died six months later.”
I felt the tears stinging my eyes as I got up to hug my aunt. “My God, I had no idea. I’m so sorry, Aunt Maude. So very sorry.”
She brushed the tears from my face. “No, don’t be sorry, Grace. I’ve always been grateful for the experience—for the experience to fully understand what true love is. The deep lasting love that truly never dies. So I have no regrets—my one regret would have been not having Oliver come into my life, even for a brief time.”
I suddenly understood so much more about my aunt. Not as my aunt, but as a woman.
“Now,” she said, clearing her throat. “All this talk about sperm donation—does it have anything to do with Lucas?”
I felt a smile cross my face. “You really are psychic, aren’t you?”
“I just know you very well, Grace. Sometimes better than you know yourself.”
“Yeah, I guess it does have a little to do with him. But after hearing your story, maybe I need to do some more thinking before we discuss it.”
“Perfect idea,” my aunt said, standing up and putting the empty teacups on the tray. “When we allow ourselves to think, that’s when we discover the answers.”
20
The following day Suellen was moving into her rental cottage and I had agreed to meet her there at two, when the movers would arrive with her furniture. Walking over to Fourth Street, I reflected on how I still had not h
eard from Lucas since we parted Saturday night.
I approached the walkway of the little cottage with gingerbread trim and smiled. This place was so ideal for Suellen. Two bedrooms, two baths, with a small living room and kitchen.
“Hey,” she said, opening the front door wide. “Welcome to my empty abode.”
I laughed as I walked inside. “It won’t be empty for long.”
“I know. Oh, Gracie, I just love this place. I still have to pinch myself that I’m really here with you so close.”
We both turned toward the street at the sound of a truck pulling up out front. “And here comes your furniture,” I said. “Right on time.”
Three hours later we were sitting on her small back deck sipping glasses of white wine. “Here’s to your official welcome to the island,” I told her, touching her glass with mine. “May you always be happy here.”
“Thanks. And thanks so much for all your help this afternoon arranging furniture and unpacking some of the boxes.”
“Well, you still have more to do, but at least we got your bed made up and the essentials put away. How was work today?” I asked, and felt certain Suellen would interpret my question as, Did Lucas mention me?
“He still hasn’t called you?”
I shook my head and took another sip of wine. “Maybe he never will again.”
“Oh, Grace, I seriously doubt that. You just had a misunderstanding, that’s all. He’ll get over it. He likes you—a lot. Can’t you see that?”
I shrugged my shoulders and reached for a pretzel.
“Can I ask you something?”
“What?” I said, shifting in my chair to see her better.
“Are you really considering sperm donation?”
“I honestly don’t know, Suellen. Like I told you yesterday, I’ve never really given it a lot of thought, but ... maybe it’s something I should look into. Do some research.”
“But ... well, what if you did that and then ... well, you know ... you and Lucas got quite serious, like fall-in-love serious. Then what? I mean, there you’d be, with some anonymous man’s baby, when ... had you waited, you might have had a child with Lucas.”