The Weight of Small Things (20 page)

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Authors: Sherri Wood Emmons

Tags: #Fiction, #Contemporary Women, #General, #Psychological

BOOK: The Weight of Small Things
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37
C
orrie sat in Father Carmichael’s office, fingering her rosary.
“What’s troubling you today, Corrie?” The priest smiled at her encouragingly.
Corrie bit her lip. Finally, her voice trembling, she spoke.
“I’m pregnant, Father.”
“Corrie, that’s wonderful!” Father Carmichael grinned widely. “I know how much you and Mark have wanted a baby.”
“Um, well . . .” Corrie stammered. “The thing is . . . I slept with another man, Father. When I was in California last month, I slept with the man I was involved with before Mark.”
She paused, her cheeks burning.
“Oh,” the priest said softly. “Oh.”
A long pause ensued. At last, he spoke again. “Does Mark know?”
Corrie nodded, not meeting his eyes.
“He’s left me.”
“I see.”
“I’m so sorry, Father. I wish so much it didn’t happen. I know I’ve sinned, and it’s unforgivable.” Corrie squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block the tears.
“A sin, yes,” the priest said quietly. “But not unforgivable.”
Corrie raised her eyes to meet his.
“We all make mistakes, Corrie. God knows we are human and that we all make mistakes. The mystery of God, the mystery of God’s grace, is that he loves us in spite of our mistakes.”
“I don’t see how he could possibly love me, after what I’ve done.”
They sat in silence for a moment. When Father Carmichael spoke again, his voice was soft but firm.
“Corrie, God loves you because you are his child. Consider the child you’re carrying now. Do you love your baby?”
Corrie folded her arms across her stomach and nodded. “More than anything,” she whispered.
“Then think how much more God loves you. God’s love surpasses our understanding. Your child is human. Someday he or she will make mistakes and disappoint you. That doesn’t mean you’ll stop loving him or her.”
Corrie thought about that for a while. Finally, she raised her head to look at the priest. “Thank you, Father.”
She paused again, longer this time. When she spoke once more, her voice faltered.
“I think I have to leave Holy Spirit,” she said. “This is Mark’s church, his family’s church. I don’t want to make it hard for him to be here. He’s going to need you more than ever.”
“The church is big enough for everyone, Corrie.”
Corrie shook her head. “I think it would be best if I found a new parish.”
Father Carmichael smiled sadly.
“St. Luke’s is a wonderful parish,” he said. “They even have a Parents Without Partners group meeting there on Tuesday nights. It might be a good fit for you.”
Corrie nodded, tears filling her eyes.
“I’ll miss you, Father. I’ll miss Holy Spirit.”
“We’ll be here, Corrie. We’ll always be here, if you want to come back.”
38
C
orrie sat in the waiting room at her doctor’s office, shaking from head to toe. Beside her, Bryn sat looking through a parenting magazine. Her hand rested on her belly, which was just beginning to show a tiny bulge.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” Corrie said.
“You can,” Bryn assured her, laying aside the magazine. “You need to know so you can get on with things.”
Outside, the December sky was gray and cold. Corrie felt as if she’d been sleepwalking for the last few weeks, waiting to find out if she and Mark could pick up the pieces of their marriage. They’d met for coffee twice, both times awkward and painful.
Please, God, please let this baby be Mark’s.
It had become her mantra, one she repeated hundreds of times each day. Soon she would know the truth.
“Corrie Philips?” The nurse holding a clipboard called her name.
Corrie and Bryn both rose. The nurse smiled.
“How are you?” she asked.
“I’ll be better once this is over with,” Corrie said. “Is it okay if my friend comes in with me?”
“Sure,” the nurse said.
Bryn waited outside the exam room while Corrie undressed and donned a hospital gown.
“You can come in,” Corrie called. She felt horribly exposed sitting on the exam table, clutching the faded blue gown around her.
“You’re going to be okay,” Bryn said firmly, taking her hand. “In a few minutes, it will be over and done with. And next week, you’ll know.”
“I know,” Corrie said. “But what if . . .”
“No what ifs right now,” Bryn said. “Right now, we’re going to see your baby.”
The nurse came in and took Corrie’s blood pressure and temperature. Then Dr. Ping arrived. He smiled at Corrie and patted her hand.
“Are you ready?”
“I guess so.”
“Okay, I’m going to give you local anesthesia,” he said. “Just a small prick.”
Corrie squeezed her eyes shut as the doctor squeezed cold jelly onto her belly. Then she heard the whoosh-whoosh of the ultrasound.
“There’s your baby.”
She opened her eyes and stared at the monitor. Beside her, Bryn drew in a quick breath and squeezed her hand.
“See, there’s the head and that’s the heart. And feet and hands.” The doctor pointed to the monitor. Corrie couldn’t stop staring at the image on the screen. The baby moved slightly, and she felt tears sting her eyes.
“Now,” said Dr. Ping, “I’m going to insert the needle just here.” He pointed to a place a bit removed from the baby. “I want you to hold very still.”
Corrie closed her eyes again, praying as hard as she had ever prayed.
Please, God, please! Let the baby be Mark’s. And please, please,
please
let the baby be okay
.
After only a minute, it was over. Dr. Ping took the tube with the amniotic fluid, sealed it, and attached a label. “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he said. “You just lie still.”
“Did it hurt?” Bryn asked, using tissues to wipe the jelly from Corrie’s stomach.
“No,” Corrie said. “Just the first shot.”
“Do you feel okay?”
Corrie nodded, chewing on her lip.
Please, God. Please
. . .
Bryn drove Corrie home and made her lie on the couch.
“I’m going to make some soup,” she said. “You just lie there and be good.”
Corrie smiled at her friend.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “I’m glad you came with me.”
“Me too.”
The phone rang in the kitchen, and Corrie heard Bryn answer.
“Oh, hi, Mark. Yes, she’s all right. She’s on the couch. She’s supposed to take it easy for the rest of the day.”
Corrie listened intently.
“Do you want to talk to her?”
Corrie started to rise, felt a tiny cramp, and leaned back onto the cushion.
“Okay,” Bryn said, “I’ll tell her. Sure thing.”
“That was Mark.” Bryn walked into the room carrying a glass of milk. “He just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“He didn’t want to talk to me?” Corrie’s voice wavered.
“He said he was on his way into a meeting.”
Corrie’s eyes filled.
“At least he called,” Bryn said. “At least he cares enough to worry about you.”
Corrie nodded.
“Now drink your milk.” Bryn put the glass on the coffee table.
“Bryn?”
Bryn stopped in the doorway to the kitchen and turned. “Yeah?”
“Have you heard from Paul at all?”
“Not since that last call after our date. I told him to stay the hell away from me, and I guess he took it seriously.”
“Do you miss him?”
Bryn leaned against the door frame, her hand on her stomach.
“Sometimes,” she admitted. “I mean, I did tell him not to call. But I guess I thought he would anyway.
“Oh well.” She straightened her shoulders. “I knew from the start he wasn’t father material, right?”
“We’re quite a pair, aren’t we?” Corrie said, willing herself not to cry.
Bryn walked back to the couch, sat down, and hugged her tightly.
“We’re going to be just fine, you and me,” she said. “We have each other, we have Bob, we have our babies. We’re going to be okay.”
“I love you,” Corrie whispered.
“I love you back.”
 
A week later, Corrie and Bryn sat in Dr. Ping’s office, holding hands, waiting. After what felt like an eternity, the doctor walked in, carrying some papers.
“How are you?” he asked, smiling at Corrie.
“I’m okay.” Her voice was small.
“Well, you have a healthy baby,” he said.
Corrie said nothing. She simply stared at him, clutching Bryn’s hand.
“I’m sorry, Corrie,” Dr. Ping said gently. “The baby is not Mark’s.”
Corrie crumpled in her chair. “Oh God. Oh my God.”
Bryn wrapped an arm around her shoulder and squeezed.
“I’m very sorry,” the doctor repeated. “I know this isn’t how you wanted things.”
He waited a long minute while Corrie cried, shaking hard.
“But, Corrie,” he said finally, taking her hand. “You have a beautiful, healthy baby.”
“I know,” she said, trying to smile. “I’m so glad it’s healthy.”
“Do you want to know if it’s a boy or girl?”
Corrie raised her head. Beside her, Bryn was nodding.
“Yes,” Corrie said.
“It’s a girl.” Dr. Ping smiled at her. “A healthy baby girl. You have a daughter.”
She sat a moment, letting it sink in. A daughter. Not Mark’s daughter. Daniel’s daughter.
No,
she thought then,
my daughter. This baby is mine.
“Everything looks good,” Dr. Ping said. “The baby is developing normally. No chromosomal defects. It all looks good.”
“Thank you, Dr. Ping.”
“Are you all right?” He smiled at her again.
“I guess so.” She tried to sound confident.
“I’ll see you in two weeks for your regular appointment. In the meantime, take care of yourself. I mean it, Corrie. I want you to eat and sleep and exercise and try not to worry too much. Just concentrate on having a healthy baby.”
39
T
he doorbell rang and Corrie rose slowly, laying aside the magazine she had been pretending to read.
Oh God, please help me
.
And please, God, help Mark!
She opened the door and Mark smiled at her tentatively.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
She nodded.
“And the baby?”
“The baby is fine.”
“Good,” he said, sitting down in the recliner.
She stared at him for a minute, steeling herself.
Please, God
. . .
“The baby isn’t yours,” she whispered.
“Oh.” His voice was so soft she barely heard it.
“I’m sorry, Mark. I’m so sorry! I wanted it to be yours so much. I hate that she’s not yours.”
He sat still, staring at the floor. “Me too,” he said at last.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
He shook his head. “No, I’m not all right.”
They sat a minute, neither of them speaking.
“Okay,” he said finally. “Well, at least now we know. At least now we can move on.”
“What do you mean, move on?” She watched him, her stomach churning.
“I mean, move on. There’s nothing holding us together now.” He rose and began pacing the floor.
“Look, I’ve put off getting an apartment because I thought if the baby was mine, maybe we could work it out.”
“We can still work it out!” Corrie’s voice shook.
“No.” He shook his head. “I’ve thought about it a lot, Corrie. And I can’t do it. I can’t raise Daniel’s kid and just pretend it’s mine, pretend that it’s okay.”
“But, Mark . . .”
“I’m sorry.” His voice was gentle. “I’m not trying to punish you or hurt you. I just can’t do it.”
Corrie sank back into the couch. She felt like she might throw up.
“You can keep the house,” he said. “I’ll make a list of stuff I want to take. We can work this out without a bunch of lawyers.”
She stared at him in disbelief.
“You want a divorce?”
“I don’t
want
a divorce,” he said. “I need a divorce. I can’t do this, Corrie. I’m sorry, but I just can’t.”
“But your dad said . . .”
“I know what my dad said!” Mark’s voice rose. “He told me about his affair, what he did to my mom. But at least he didn’t get some other woman pregnant! He didn’t ask my mother to raise his bastard child!”
Corrie felt the words like a slap across the face. She lowered her head and let her tears fall unchecked.
“I’m sorry,” Mark said. “This is exactly what I didn’t want to do. I don’t want to yell and fight. I don’t want to hurt you, and I know you don’t want to hurt me. I just want it over and done with.”
He walked to the front door and paused.
“I’m filing for divorce,” he said. “I hope we can do this without a bunch of fighting.”
He looked at her for a long minute, then sighed heavily and left, closing the door behind him.
Corrie lay back on the couch and cried, her arms wrapped around her stomach.
Mark was gone and he wasn’t coming back. Her life was over.
And then she felt something she’d never felt before. A tiny fluttering in her stomach, as if a moth had been let loose inside her. She sat up, her hands on her belly, waiting intently. And felt it again.
Could it be? Again, a small flutter.
Through her tears she smiled and then she laughed. It was life, her baby moving inside her, her tiny daughter making her presence known. It felt just the way Bryn had described it a couple weeks earlier, like a tiny butterfly fluttering in her womb.
She rose, her hand still on her stomach, and reached for the phone. She started to dial Sarah’s number, then stopped. She hadn’t seen Sarah since Grace was born. Now that she’d joined St. Luke’s, she didn’t even run into her old friend at church anymore.
She bit her lip, gripping the phone tightly. This was a moment she’d dreamed of for so long, one that had always included Sarah. Now . . . she shook her head. Sarah was Mark’s sister. He would need her now more than ever. She had no right to intrude on that.
She sat a moment, hand still on her belly, and then she called Maya.

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