Grand Avenue

by Joy Fielding

  He nodded, his gaze lowering to the front of her white turtleneck sweater. “I don’t see where you have anything to worry about, Mrs. Norman. Your chest appears more than ample to secure a passing grade.” His smile tugged at his cheeks, widening, showing teeth.

  Like a snarling dog, Susan thought. Instinctively, she took a step back.

  “Now if you’ll excuse me,” he said.

  “I won’t excuse you.” The words were out of Susan’s mouth before she had time to consider them.

  “What?”

  “I won’t excuse you. I think your comments are out of line. I think you owe the class—and me—an apology.”

  “I think you’re the one who’s out of line here, Mrs. Norman,” he said quickly, biting off her name and spitting it into the space between them. “Now I know it’s the eighties, and women’s lib has seized control of common sense, but really, Susan, have you no sense of humor?”

  “I have no sense of your humor,” she retorted.

  Professor Currier shook his head sadly, as if he were the one offended. “I look forward to your essay,” he said, then walked briskly from the room.

  Six

  So, how are you feeling?”

  “Okay, I guess.”

  “Nervous?”

  “A little.”

  Chris reached over to take Barbara’s trembling hand, her arm brushing up against her hugely pregnant belly. Chris felt the baby inside her immediately lean forward, press its ears against the inner layers of her flesh, as if on instant alert. Who is this woman? the baby inside Chris demanded silently, a sharp kick reminding her not to get too close. This woman is an interloper, not a friend, the kick warned, someone who makes unreasonable demands on your time, who takes your focus away from your family, where it belongs. You shouldn’t even be here. Didn’t Daddy tell you not to come? Another kick, harder, sharper than the first. What would Daddy say if he knew?

  A wave of nausea washed over Chris as she swallowed the bile pushing its way up her throat. Oh, please, no, she thought, eyes frantically scanning the long hallway for an exit sign. You can’t be sick. Not here. Not in a hospital corridor, for God’s sake. Although what better place? she thought, and almost laughed, except she was too afraid to laugh. She was always afraid, she thought, fighting off the impulse to gag and hiding her fear behind a smile. She smiled a lot these days. “It’ll be okay,” Chris said, as much to herself as to her closest friend. “I understand they do these procedures all the time now.” She wondered if this was true or something she’d made up. Tony said she was always making things up, substituting gibberish for fact, trying to disguise her lack of education. But nobody was fooled, he said.

  “I know.” A slight widening of Barbara’s eyes signaled a smile of her own. “It’s no big deal. I shouldn’t have asked you to come.”

  “Don’t be silly. I want to be here.”

  “Ron said he’d try to get here as soon as his classes were over.”

  “I’m really glad I could make it.”

  “Thanks.” Barbara stared into her lap. “I know it probably wasn’t easy for you to get away.”

  “Easier than you think.” Chris stole another look down the busy hospital corridor, searching for familiar eyes peeking out from atop sterile hospital masks. “Tony had to go out of town on business.”

  “Business? Did he get a new client?”

  “I’m not sure,” Chris said vaguely, embarrassed less by the fact she wasn’t able to elaborate than by the fact she’d been so relieved when Tony had said he had to leave town for a few days that she hadn’t asked him either where he was going or what he was going to do when he got there. Such was her joy at his unexpected announcement that she’d had to hang on to the kitchen table to keep from jumping up and down.

  “What’s the matter, sweetheart?” Tony asked, folding her into his embrace. “I won’t be gone long. You don’t have to worry.”

  What was the matter with her? Chris asked herself now. Tony was her husband, for God’s sake, the father of her children. He worked so hard to provide her with all the creature comforts she took for granted. How could she be so ungrateful, so hard-hearted, so selfish, as to wish him anywhere but at her side, the only place on earth he wanted to be? Why was she always giving him such a hard time? Was it so hard to just keep quiet and do the things he asked: keep the house in order, the children in check, her friends at bay? Tony was right—if only she would worry half as much about him as she did her precious friends …

  Maybe if she just had some time to herself, Chris thought. But ever since Tony had started working out of the house, he’d seemed more preoccupied with how Chris spent her days than he did his own. In the seven months since he’d converted the den into his office, he’d reorganized Chris’s schedule entirely, and while she grudgingly had to admit that the house ran much more efficiently now, still, a few days to herself had sounded awfully nice. She could relax, call her friends without worrying about Tony’s bruised ego, maybe even meet Susan or Vicki for lunch, definitely accompany Barbara to the hospital for her scheduled laparoscopy, an idea Tony had initially vetoed. “Sure, that’s great thinking, Chris,” he’d scoffed when she’d told him of Barbara’s initial request several weeks earlier. “You, with your baby practically bursting out of your stomach going to the hospital with a woman having a procedure to find out why she can’t have another kid! Real sensitive of you.”

  Absently, Chris patted her stomach, feeling the baby inside her kick at the palm of her hand, as if kicking her away, warning her to keep her distance, as if aware of her ambivalence toward him, as if he’d judged her in advance and found her wanting. The ultrasound had revealed the baby was a boy. Tony had already picked out a name. Rowdy, he told her, after some cowboy Clint Eastwood had once played on TV. What kind of name was Rowdy? she wondered, but hadn’t bothered to ask. What was the point? “You’re sure this doesn’t upset you?” she asked Barbara, her voice a whisper. Both women looked toward Chris’s stomach.

  “Are you kidding? It gives me hope. Reminds me why I’m doing this.” Barbara reached over and caressed Chris’s pregnant belly, eager palms obviously hoping to feel signs of life. The baby inside Chris fell instantly quiet, refusing to move so much as a finger until Barbara eventually gave up in defeat and withdrew her hand.

  As if he knows, Chris thought. As if he’s not moving on purpose.

  Barbara patted her own stomach. “Think I could talk them into a tummy tuck while I’m here?”

  Chris laughed. “You look great.”

  “I don’t know. I can’t seem to get rid of this pot. At least you have an excuse.”

  “You look great,” Chris repeated, amazed at how put-together her friend was even less than an hour away from surgery, sitting primly beside her in high heels and Chanel-style suit, shoulder-length black hair framing her perfectly made-up face, brown eyes highlighted by pale mauve shadow, lush pink lips outlined in red, her cheekbones blushing pale peach.

  Chris brought her hand to her own cheek, still echoing with the sting of Tony’s palm. Of course, it had been an accident. He hadn’t meant to hit her. Yes, he was angry, but he’d merely raised his hand in frustration; he hadn’t expected her to turn her head. Why had she chosen precisely that moment to turn her head?

  “God, baby, I’m so sorry,” she heard him cry, his voice echoing down the hospital corridor, bouncing off the walls. “Are you all right? You know I didn’t mean to hurt you. Please forgive me. You know it was an accident, don’t you? You know how much I love you. Please say you forgive me, baby. I promise you it’ll never happen again.”

  “Something wrong?” Barbara asked.

  “Wrong?”

  “You’re rubbing a hole in your cheek.”

  Chris felt her neck grow hot and her cheeks flush red. “Feels like I’m getting a pimple,” she lied. She was getting good at lying to her friends.

  “You’d think we’d be past that crap by now.” Barbara moved closer, examined Chris’s cheek with
a practiced eye. “I don’t see anything.”

  “It’s one of those under-the-skin things.”

  “They’re the worst.” Barbara looked around, sighed. “It’s times like this I wish I smoked.”

  “You’re nervous?”

  “A little. Heard any good jokes lately?”

  “What did one wall say to the other?” Chris asked timidly.

  “Meet you at the corner?”

  “Pretty lame,” Chris acknowledged, and both women laughed. “That’s what happens when you get your jokes from a four-year-old.”

  Barbara released a deep breath from her lungs, the sigh rippling audibly into the air. “What if they discover I can’t have any more kids?”

  Chris took her friend’s hands in her own. “That’s not going to happen.”

  “What if it does?”

  “I’ll give you one of mine,” Chris said softly, as Barbara lay her head against Chris’s shoulder. Immediately, Chris felt the baby inside her kick, as if he’d heard her, as if by laying siege to her body all these months, he was privy to everything she said and felt and thought. And he hated her for those thoughts, hated her already. Rowdy, she repeated silently, trying to get used to the sound, as the baby inside her unleashed a barrage of well-aimed kicks at her bladder. I didn’t mean it, Chris tried to explain. It was just a joke. I could never give you up. You’re my flesh and blood. I’d never desert you. It’s not that I won’t love you, that I don’t love you already. It’s just …

  Just what? Just that the timing isn’t right? Isn’t that what you told your friends? That a third child is the last thing you need right now? Because you have so many other things to do, so many better things to do. Because you’d rather be with your friends than your family, she heard the baby inside her accuse in Tony’s voice.

  “No!” Chris jumped to her feet.

  Barbara was instantly on her feet beside her. “What’s the matter? Did your water break?”

  Both women looked toward the floor. Mercifully, it was dry, as were Chris’s thighs and legs. What was the matter with her? Had she lost all self-control? “I need to use the washroom.”

  “Do you want me to come with you?” Worry clouded Barbara’s mauve-framed brown eyes.

  That’s just great, Chris thought. She’s worrying about me when I’m the one who’s supposed to be taking care of her. She’s the one going in for surgery. She’s the one who’s going to be sedated and cut and prodded and poked, and all I was supposed to do was sit here and keep her company until she goes in, that’s my whole job, and I can’t even do that. I’m a complete incompetent. My best friend is putting herself through this ordeal because she wants to have another baby more than anything else in the world, and here I am practically giving birth—to baby number three, no less—right in front of her. Talk about insensitive! Tony was right. I should never have come.

  “Chris? Are you all right? You don’t look so hot.”

  “I’m okay,” Chris lied.

  “Maybe you should go home.” Barbara checked her watch. “They’ll be coming for me any minute now, and Ron’ll be here before I’m out of recovery. There’s no reason for you to stay. Here, let me give you some money for a cab.” She reached inside her purse, grabbed two $20 bills, pushed them into Chris’s hand.

  Chris flushed with shame. How could Tony have forgotten to leave her any money? “I’m not going anywhere,” she insisted, stuffing the money back inside Barbara’s purse. “Except to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”

  Chris walked on unsteady feet along a corridor that seemed to grow longer with each successive step. “Where is the damn bathroom?” she muttered. “There’s got to be a bathroom, for God’s sake.”

  “Can I help you?” a man asked from somewhere beside her.

  Chris lifted her eyes toward the familiar voice, her heartbeat quickening, sweat breaking out across her forehead. He’d found her, she acknowledged, closing her eyes, bracing herself for her husband’s anger. She’d gone against his wishes, leapt at the first opportunity to deceive him, put her family at risk by exposing her baby to potentially lethal germs. Hadn’t Tony told her not to go? He had every right to be angry.

  “Are you looking for anything in particular?” the man asked, as Chris forced her eyes open.

  The man Chris saw, the man staring at her with kind blue eyes from a height of at least six and a half feet, looked absolutely nothing like Tony. Nor did he sound anything like him, Chris realized, as he directed her to the washroom located around the corner to her right. “Thank you,” she said, allowing him to take her elbow and escort her part of the way. “Thank you,” she said again as she reached the bathroom door, although the young man was already gone. “Thank you,” she repeated a third time, standing in front of the mirror, throwing water on her cheeks and watching as it dribbled down her neck toward the white collar of her navy blue sweater.

  Several minutes later, her bladder emptied and her nerves calmed, Chris retraced her steps, only to find Barbara gone. She stood for several seconds in the middle of the hall, not sure what to do next, whether to sit down and wait for Barbara to come back from surgery or whether to go home, as Barbara had suggested. Except she had no money, only $10 to give Mrs. McGuinty for looking after Wyatt. So she had no choice but to wait for Ron to show up. That was okay. Montana was in school. Wyatt was being well looked after. It was peaceful here. Quiet. No one was telling her what to do or how to do it, no one was telling her she was lazy or stupid or selfish.

  It was then that she felt a hand on her back, familiar fingers pressing into the flesh beneath her blouse. Oh, God, she thought, stifling a cry in her lungs, her shoulders stiffening. He’d found her. She’d been a fool to think he wouldn’t find out, a fool to think he wouldn’t know where to look.

  “Are you Chris Malarek?” a woman’s voice asked.

  Chris spun around so quickly she almost knocked down the middle-aged woman in the white nurse’s uniform standing before her. Chris nodded vehemently.

  “Mrs. Azinger was taken into surgery,” the nurse explained. “She asked me to give you this and said she’ll call you later.” The nurse dropped five new $20 bills into Chris’s hand.

  “Thank you,” Chris whispered. “Thank you very much.” In the next minute, she was sobbing wildly on the other woman’s shoulder.

  * * *

  She had to leave him.

  Pregnant or not, she couldn’t live this way any longer, always looking over her shoulder, afraid of her own shadow. “I can’t live this way,” Chris was saying, her hands trembling as she fought with her key to open the front door. “I can’t live this way anymore. Afraid to leave the house. No money of my own. Lying to my friends. Collapsing in front of total strangers. I can’t do it.”

  She looked down the street, at the taxi that was disappearing around the corner. She loved this street, Chris thought, pushing open the front door. Especially now, in early April, when the cool, damp air was so full of promise. How could she leave it? How could she leave her friends, the wonderful women of Grand Avenue, whom she loved with all her heart? Her best friends in the world. Chris smiled as each beautiful face flashed before her eyes. Still, her friends would understand why she had to leave. They’d known for months that something was wrong. Only her great shame had prevented her from telling them the truth.

  She’d pack a small suitcase, pick up Wyatt from Mrs. McGuinty’s and Montana from school, spend the night at a hotel, decide then what to do next. She still had a credit card, didn’t she? Maybe not. No. Tony had taken away her credit cards, said they were in enough debt as it was, and she was so careless with money. He was right. Money had always slipped through her fingers with alarming ease. That’s why he’d found it necessary to take away her credit cards, to stop her weekly allowance, to give her only a few dollars a day, to make her account for every cent.

  It wasn’t so awful. This way she didn’t have to worry about spending too much or planning too far ahead, because she’d never been
good at planning too far ahead, her mind was always racing from one thing to another, which was why they’d decided she really shouldn’t be driving, because she was so easily distracted, and they both knew she’d never forgive herself if she was to get in an accident, especially if the kids were involved. Besides, what did she need with a car anyway, especially now that Tony was home all day and he could drive her anywhere she needed to go? No, the second car had been an unnecessary extravagance, one they simply couldn’t afford to indulge anymore. If necessary, if he wasn’t available, then she could always hop in a cab. “Hop in a cab,” Chris repeated, stepping into the foyer. “Hop in a cab. Hop in a cab.”

  Just hop in a cab and go. Go where? Chris thought, dropping her coat and purse to the floor, stepping over the small heap as if it were a puddle. She was eight months pregnant, for God’s sake. Where was she going to go? Home to mother? That was a laugh. Mother was in California with husband-to-be number three. Daddy was in Florida with wife number four. And were either of them any happier than they’d been when they were together? She doubted it. No, they’d destroyed the family, uprooted the children, taken off for parts and partners unknown, turned everyone’s life inside out, and for what exactly? So that they could be just as miserable somewhere else. Was Chris seriously thinking of doing the same thing to her own children? To Tony? To herself?

  Could she really abandon her husband on a whim, uproot her family because she was feeling a little down in the dumps? And that was all it was. She was being moody, the way she always got when she was pregnant. That’s all it was. Her hormones were making her so anxious about every little thing, causing her to talk back to Tony, to question his every utterance, to resent him for being concerned about her, for being so attentive. Didn’t he have her best interests at heart? Wasn’t he always trying to help her, to protect her, even when that meant protecting her from herself, if need be? “You’re your own worst enemy,” he told her, and he was right.

  Maybe she should see a therapist, she decided, inching her way up the stairs to her bedroom, feeling her feet sink into the worn carpet, as if into quicksand, her shaking hand heavy on the wooden banister. It needs dusting, she thought idly, pulling one leg after the other, the muscles of her inner thighs twisting and cramping with the strain. I don’t need a therapist, she decided. I need a cleaning lady.