What You Wish For

by Janet Dawson

  He gathered up the remains of lunch and stowed them in the bag. “Max and I have been concerned about Claire’s machinations, but it’s going to be okay. We elected a new director this morning, Rod Llewellyn, who heads up our Houston operation.”

  When she heard Rod’s name, Annabel’s hand tightened on the bedcovers. Hal continued with his account of that morning’s board meeting. When he got to the part about Claire’s attempt to have Anna­bel declared incapacitated and replaced as a board member, Anna­bel felt alarm. What would Claire do now that she’d lost this round?

  Hal looked at his watch. “Didn’t realize what time it was. I need to get back to the office.” He leaned over and kissed her gently. “I love you.”

  He picked up the shopping bag and left the room. A moment later the housekeeper entered the room, pushing her cart of cleaning supplies. “I’ll just be a minute, Mrs. Norwood. I’m going to empty the trash and give that bathroom a once-over.”

  Annabel lay back against the pillows and let the memories come.

  38

  San Francisco, California, May 1974

  Annabel stood in Washington Square and watched the bride and groom exit the Church of Saints Peter and Paul. The woman wore a frothy white wedding gown, veil streaming from her hair, laughing as she held up her bouquet of pink roses. Her bridegroom laughed, his hand up to ward off the rice thrown by the spectators. The bride tossed her bouquet high into the air. The newlyweds escaped into the backseat of a white Cadillac, arms around each ­other as the driver sped off.

  Is it as easy as that? Yes, Rod, I’ll marry you. He’d take her into his arms and everything would be all right.

  It was a Saturday, late spring. North Beach was crowded with people, strolling along the sidewalks, sampling food and coffee in the cafés and delis, stretched out on the grass of Washington Square, ­faces turned toward the sun. A man and a woman, tourists with cameras looped around their necks, stopped in front of her as they consulted a map and talked about the best route to Coit Tower. She stepped around them and crossed Columbus Avenue. When she reached the deli, she looked up. The curtains were open in Rod’s living room.

  What am I going to do if he’s not home? We left it in such a bad place when he proposed and I turned him down. That was before...I have to talk with him. I do love him.

  A bell clanged as a cable car lumbered toward Fisherman’s Wharf. Then she saw a sign in the deli’s window—FOR RENT, 1 BR, INQUIRE WITHIN.

  No. She refused to even consider the thought that pushed into her mind.

  Mrs. DeLucci was behind the counter, scooping potato salad into a container. Her husband whistled a jaunty tune as he sliced salami. Annabel waited near a display of olive oil until the customer ­departed. Mrs. DeLucci smiled at Annabel. “Can I help you?”

  “The sign. The apartment for rent.”

  “It’s a nice apartment, one bedroom, furnished, sunny. You can even see the wharf from the living room window. It’s available right now.”

  Available now. She heard the words with dread. “The man who rents that apartment, Rod Llewellyn. Has he moved out?”

  Mrs. DeLucci nodded. “Yes. Are you a friend? He didn’t tell you he was leaving?”

  “No.” Annabel hated the look of sympathy in the woman’s eyes. “Did he leave a forwarding address? A phone number?”

  The woman shook her head. “His company transferred him to another place. He had to leave right away. We saw him off in a cab, three days ago. Listen, honey, it’s none of my business, but—”

  Annabel left the deli. She was on Montgomery Street before she realized where she was headed. No one would be at the Dunlin Building on a Saturday, except maybe Max Brinker. He would know where Rod had gone.

  The front door was locked. She peered inside and saw a security guard making his rounds. She rapped on the glass. He recognized her and unlocked the door. “Hello, Miss Dunlin. What brings you here on a Saturday?”

  “I’m looking for Mr. Brinker.”

  “You’re in luck. He went upstairs about an hour ago.”

  Max Brinker was at his desk in the security office. “Annabel. What are you doing here?”

  “I was in the city...on an errand.” The words sounded stiff and awkward. Surely he’d know something was wrong. He always did. But there was some truth to her description. Her errand had come to naught. “I wanted to ask about the security guards. Now that they’re no longer needed at the house, what happens to them? Are they still working for the company?”

  “Tom got another job. Mike and Carl still work for me.”

  “What about Rod Llewellyn?” She tried to keep her face blank.

  “Rod took a job in our Houston office.”

  Annabel forced a smile. “They were nice guys. I wish them well.”

  He looked at her as though he knew there was something else on her mind. “Congratulations on graduating next week. It’s a real milestone. You must be pleased.”

  “I am.” She looked at her watch. “I have some shopping to do. Thanks, Mr. Brinker.”

  “Any time, Annabel.”

  She walked to the elevator and got onto the car. Her hand slipped on the central panel and she punched three instead of one. The doors opened and she looked out on an empty hallway. She punched the button to close the doors but they stayed open. Off to the right, she saw movement and a tall figure came into view.

  “Annabel? Annabel, wait.” The elevator doors closed. The car descended again.

  On the first floor she crossed the lobby. The security guard let her out. A cable car went by, clanging its bell as it climbed toward Nob Hill. Annabel walked up the steep slope to Powell Street, where two cable car lines intersected. The cable car on the Powell line stopped and picked up passengers. People stood on the steps and clung to railings as the car clanged its bell and began its steep descent to Union Square.

  Annabel passed the Fairmont Hotel and the dark sandstone Flood mansion. The mining kings and robber barons of another era had built their palaces atop this hill, only to lose them to forces stronger than their owners. Most had been shaken to rubble and burned to ash during the great 1906 earthquake and fire. But this one had survived. It was now the Pacific Union Club, the exclusive province of latter-day robber barons like her father. On the next block ­Huntington Park beckoned, a rectangular green oasis. On the other side of Taylor Street stood Grace Cathedral, an Episcopal church modeled on Notre Dame in Paris.

  Annabel sat on a park bench and gazed at the round stained glass window above the cathedral’s front door. The sidewalks and steps in front of the church were crowded with men in dark suits and women in pastel dresses and hats.

  Specters rose, words and images haunting Annabel, memories of her days and nights with Rod. She remembered that last day, when he’d asked her to marry him. She’d turned him down, her refusal signaling the end of their relationship. Now he was gone. Too late. Or was it? Could she contact him? What if he didn’t want to hear from her? Maybe he wanted a clean break.

  But it wasn’t all that clean. There was something left over, something more tangible than Annabel’s memories.

  Her missed period brought several days of denial. No, it couldn’t be true. It was stress, brought on by her approaching graduation and the promise of independence. But her cycle was always regular, just like clockwork. Finally she went to a clinic and confirmed her fears.

  I have to figure out what I’m going to do. I’m pregnant. Barely a month along, but pregnant. Rod’s gone. I have a decision to make. But it was difficult to focus as conflicting emotions washed over her.

  She could have an abortion. It was legal in California, even before the Supreme Court decision called Roe v. Wade. She supported that choice in the abstract but when it boiled down to Annabel Dunlin, pregnant and unmarried, making that decision felt very different. Besides, it was Rod’s child, the only thing she had left. Did she really want the responsibility of raising another human being for the next twenty years? Panic rose inside her.
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  Other people have been looking after me for so long. I can barely take care of myself. How can I take care of a baby?

  Across the street a long white limousine pulled up to the curb. Four young women in lavender dresses spilled out, accompanied by a little girl wearing a miniature version of their dresses. An older woman in a mauve dress got out, holding a white bouquet with streaming lavender ribbons. Then the bride emerged, in her lacy white gown and flowing veil. The older woman handed her the bouquet. The bride entered the cathedral, three of her bridesmaids holding her train. The fourth bridesmaid remained outside, with the little girl.

  Marriage, Annabel thought. Or abortion. My decision. I have to choose.

  What would this baby do to all of her dreams and plans? With a pang of regret, she thought about her summer trip to Europe, graduate school, her career plans.

  She tried on the idea of an abortion again. Safe, simple, an outpatient procedure, or so she’d heard. No one would know. She could get on with her life. Was it that easy?

  The little girl across the street held a white basket tied with ribbons wrapped around the handle. A rose fell from the basket. The girl squatted and picked up the bloom, putting it back in the basket. Then the bridesmaid took the child by the hand and led her into the cathedral.

  What if this is the only baby I’ll ever have? What if this is my only chance to be a mother? Oh, God, I don’t know what to do.

  She felt something wet on her cheek and looked up at the sky, blue with wisps of clouds, a gorgeous day in late spring. Surely it couldn’t be raining. She wiped her fingers over her cheek and discovered she was crying.

  “Annabel?”

  She looked up. The man was tall and dark. For a joyous moment she thought it was Rod. There must have been a mistake. He wasn’t gone after all.

  But it was Hal. He thought the hopeful look on her face was meant for him.

  “Didn’t you hear me calling you?” he asked. “When the elevator opened on the third floor? When I got outside I saw you walking up the hill, so I followed you. Annabel...” He sat down next to her on the bench. “You’re crying. What’s wrong?” He pulled a white handkerchief from his pocket.

  She took the handkerchief and wiped away tears. He was a nice man, easy to be with, a friend. She needed a friend right now.

  “Annabel, what’s wrong?” He reached for her hand. “Tell me. I can help.”

  “I’m pregnant.” Oh, damn, just blurt it out.

  A shadow brushed over his face. Then it was gone, as quickly as it had come. He squeezed her hand. “We’ll get married. Everything will be fine.”

  She stared at him. He was throwing her a lifeline and still she wasn’t sure whether to grab it. “Are you sure you want to take on the responsibility of a child who isn’t yours?”

  “A child who will be mine. I love you.”

  “I don’t love you, Hal.”

  “I know that. But we’re friends. You like me, I hope. That’s a start. If you’d give it...us a chance, love could grow. We could have a good marriage. We could give this baby a wonderful home. Please marry me, Annabel. Let me be the father of your child.”

  “All the things I want to do,” she said. “Travel, graduate school.”

  He smiled. “We can travel together. Anywhere you want to go. You can start graduate school in the fall, just as you planned. And you can go back after the baby’s born.”

  She leaned back on the bench, feeling calmer as he stroked her hand, listening to his seductive voice. Steady, reliable Hal, so considerate, so supportive. Being with him was comfortable. Maybe he was right. Maybe she’d learn to love him.

  She heard the organ booming from Grace Cathedral, the opening bars of Bach’s “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring.” Then she frowned. “What about Lindsey?” she whispered. If he heard her, he gave no sign of it.

  39

  Annabel reached for the rectangular control attached to the left bed railing. She adjusted the bed’s angle downward and lay back against the pillows, thinking about her long-ago plans and dreams. A different road than the one she found herself on now, married to Hal, mother of three children.

  She’d graduated from Cal that May of 1974, mortarboard on her head, gown billowing around her as she rushed down the aisle and onto the stage to accept her diploma. Afterwards she suggested eloping to Lake Tahoe, as soon as possible, before she changed her mind about marriage. Hal wanted something more formal, with his own family there to celebrate. Annabel gave in. She owed him that much for solving her problem.

  So June brought another ceremony, another journey down an aisle, this one at a slower, more reluctant pace. Annabel wore an unadorned ice blue silk gown, bought off the rack. She couldn’t bring herself to wear white.

  June, the month for brides and weddings, and most churches had been booked, every weekend, months in advance. There was no big Saturday production, just a small weekday ceremony, late on a summer afternoon, the sun lowering in the west as tendrils of fog threaded their way through the Golden Gate. Annabel and Hal said their vows at Grace Cathedral, their words echoing off the walls and ceiling of the vast, nearly empty sanctuary. The small reception took place afterwards at the nearby Fairmont Hotel, where George Dunlin had arranged for Hal’s family to stay.

  When she told her father she was getting married, and soon, she wasn’t sure of his reaction. He didn’t question the sudden wedding and the reason for its haste. Instead he appeared to be pleased. She was marrying the designated suitor, after all. It seemed her father liked steady, reliable Hal. For Hal’s sake, and her own, she hoped she would learn to love him.

  Had she?

  Later that summer, she told her father she was pregnant. She didn’t elaborate. He could count to nine, just like anyone else. No doubt he’d assumed she and Hal had slept together before they got married. It was the Seventies, after all. Such things happened all the time. Aunt Rebecca had a knowing look in her eyes. Claire probably told Aunt Rebecca the truth about the baby. Claire would.

  What about Lindsey? Hal never answered. Lindsey was gone, living with her aunt. But Annabel wondered. She’d gone ahead with the wedding. No turning back. But the question didn’t go away. Did Lindsey mean so little to Hal that he could marry Annabel without a backward glance? Did Lindsey mean so little to Annabel that she could marry Hal even when she didn’t love him? And Lindsey was pregnant, according to Claire, with Hal’s child.

  Had Annabel learned to love Hal? Or had she just gotten used to having him around?

  Mr. and Mrs. Hal Norwood went to Maui for their honeymoon. Rod was the only man Annabel had ever slept with. Now it felt strange to share a bed with Hal, to have sex with him, especially with another man’s child growing inside her. When they got back from Hawaii, she moved into his two-bedroom flat on Russian Hill, more spacious than her flat in the house on Hillegass Street. It looked like home once she added her own things. Apartment living was fine with Annabel, but Hal wanted a house and a yard, all the trappings of married life. He thought it would be better to make the move before the baby was born. As summer spun into fall, the morning sickness went away. Annabel adjusted to the idea of motherhood and marriage. She and Hal spent weekends in the company of a real estate agent, eventually buying the Noe Valley house. They moved in, designating the smallest bedroom as the nursery.

  She signed up for one fall semester graduate course. But as the months passed, her figure thickened and her ankles swelled. She felt uncomfortable and ungainly, awkward and out of place, tired most of the time. Driving from San Francisco to Berkeley, for class and time in the library, got harder and harder. It was difficult to concentrate on classwork, distracted as she was by the move, decorating the house, the physical changes to her body, the fact that she was about to give birth to another human being. She was relieved when the semester was over and she could stay at home and rest.

  When Tess was born, Annabel got caught in the web of motherhood—breastfeeding, colic, teething, appointments with the pediatrician,
and dirty diapers. Wealth eased the way as much as possible, with a nanny for the baby and domestic help with the cleaning and cooking. It was another eighteen months before she could sign up for a class. Midway through that semester she discovered she was pregnant again, with Sharon. Two babies in four years. It seemed overwhelming. She gave up the idea of acquiring a master’s degree. Instead she took the occasional class at San Francisco State.

  I did see Paris and London and Rome, she thought. Eventually. Just not on my own.

  The irony was that Lindsey had done all the things Annabel hadn’t, though burdened with her own pregnancy and child. She’d done it alone, without a husband to support her. When Annabel looked at Hal’s daughters—Nina, Lindsey’s child, and Sharon, her second child—she saw the resemblance. Surely others could. She knew Lindsey did.

  But they were all such good friends, so polite, spending time together, but never really talking about what must be going through their minds, deluding themselves into seeing what they wanted to see, instead of what was really there, caught in their own variations of the devil’s bargain.

  Then there was Claire. Contrary Claire. Difficult. Contradictory. She’d never trusted Claire. Her cousin could be generous, but you didn’t want to get on her bad side. She could be ruthless, capable of deliberate cruelty. When she was good, she was very, very good. And when she was bad, she was horrid.

  Speak of the devil, and she appears.

  Claire walked into the room and shut the door. Something about her was off, vibrating like a steel wire pulled taut. Much too tight. Tight enough to snap. When she spoke, her voice was rushed and breathless. “We have to talk,” Claire said, fingers playing with the clasp on her shoulder bag. “You need to listen to what I have to say. I want you to understand. It’s really my company. Your father stole it from mine.”

  What nonsense. Yet Annabel knew the source. In Claire’s feverish words she heard Rebecca’s grievances, festering unabated through the years, unmitigated by the favors George Dunlin had doled out. Claire had been hearing this skewed version of the facts her whole life.