Treasures (16 page)

It was almost impossible to believe that a life was growing in her body. Surely birth was as common as death, and yet was death not incomprehensible too? She did not feel any different, but the life was there, a minute heart already throbbing. And she was about to let them rip it out! A violent shaking overcame her. And as she clasped Delphine, she felt the little dog’s heart beating, beating.…

What to do? What to do? No, I can’t. I’m not ready for a child, I didn’t want one before I knew about Richard, at least not yet, I didn’t, and I certainly don’t want one now. I wouldn’t welcome his child. I would have to pretend I did, and the child would feel it. We would both be so wounded and unhappy.… She sat down and cried. The dog in her lap looked up at her face and licked her hand.

Presently, cried out, she got up and looked around. Much progress had been made during these last few weeks. The living room was almost complete, an English oak stretcher table stood in the dining room and the cabinets that were to have held Richard’s books in the den were finished. She would simply have to fill them one by one with books of her own. A new bed stood in the bedroom now, which was a pity because the original
bed had been a handsome piece. But she could never have slept in it, and this one, covered in yellow quilted chintz, was pretty enough. The sight of these accumulating possessions began to soothe her. They were curiously comforting, enfolding her and reassuring her that she was, after all, safe.

There was no reason for any panic. If you just kept your head, you could get through almost anything. By tomorrow at this time the simple operation would be over. And after that go forward, she told herself.

Thus Connie passed the evening, slept through the night, and in the morning, was calm.

On that same afternoon Lara, too, had been seeing a doctor. She said wanly, “I felt so sure this time. I can’t explain, but I was so sure when I missed that this was it.”

Through the window behind the doctor’s head she could see the parking lot, in which a young woman, carrying a baby and holding with the other hand a little boy in a yellow slicker, was hurrying through the rain.

“I don’t know,” she said again. “I just don’t know.”

“And I—I don’t know anything much either. Only that we’ve tried everything possible, Mrs. Davis.” The man had a kindly manner, he was genuinely sorry for her, but that did not help. And he said so. “Sometimes we doctors run up against problems that won’t let themselves be solved. That doesn’t help you, does it?”

Lara shook her head and wiped her eyes.

“Adoption?” queried the doctor. “It can work out beautifully, you know.”

“It takes years to get a baby, Doctor. There aren’t nearly enough for all the people who want them.”

“That’s true of infants. But if you would take an older child who needs parents, and there are many such, shunted from one foster home to another, and it tears your heart to think about them—you might be very happy, I think. You and your husband would make wonderful parents.”

I wanted Davey’s baby, our baby, she was saying to herself. Not a child who remembers her own mother. But she said nothing, except that Davey had said the same thing himself.

“Well, think about it,” the doctor said. “Go home and talk it over.”

So all that evening they talked it over, sitting together on the sofa. Davey had his arm around Lara when finally he said, “There comes a time, no matter what the problem, when one has to face the hard truth. And I think we’ve come to it. As a matter of fact, at the last stockholders’ meeting, Don Schultz happened to mention that a cousin of his adopted a boy from a home somewhere in Minnesota, I think it was. It’s a church-run place, and they give you the child’s history and the background and everything. I really believe we should try it, Lara. It’s time we stopped fooling around and made a decision.”

Of course, he was right. She knew that. And she said, “I’m ready. Yes, I’m ready. Will you get the name of the place tomorrow?”

“I will. And Lara darling, listen to me. Things aren’t all bad. We’ll find a child in need of love, and we have a
lot of love to give, you and I. Think of poor Connie, married three years and finished. That’s a trouble we don’t have.”

“I know. She’s pretty shaken by it too.”

“Why don’t you go to her? You haven’t seen her since it happened, so why not get on a plane tomorrow and surprise her? Stay for a couple of days and cheer her up. See a few shows, go to a French restaurant, have fun together. Meanwhile, I’ll talk to the people in Minnesota or wherever it is, and we’ll drive out there first thing for our baby—our child.”

Well, I’m hardly alone, Connie thought, as she waited her turn, and passed the time in speculation about the others in the room. There were a dozen women and almost as many men. Two very young girls, unmistakably sisters, held hands; it was impossible to guess who of the two was to have the abortion, for they were both frightened and suppressing tears. A tired woman, nearing fifty, wore a wedding band and a shabby coat. One had the impression that she had already reared a houseful of children. A tough young woman wearing false eyelashes, false nails like bloody pins, and pants that revealed every smallest line of her body tried to encourage the sisters.

“Nothing to it, girls. Honest. This is my fourth go-around.”

In the white room with its rows of flashing instruments, the doctor and nurse in white and its cold, white light, Connie remembered that: nothing to it. Lie back. Be confident. Remember the infected and impacted wisdom tooth? It was just like this, the whiteness, the
bareness, and the low commanding voices; the stab of pain, the quick stab; clench your fists and hold on. The room whirled. You’re not here. You’re far away on a beach, under a tree. You’re sweating under your arms, but you haven’t made a sound. Brace your feet. Almost finished, someone says. Now vast relief.… It’s over.

They led her to a cot and told her to rest. They gave her a long, cool drink, and she fell asleep. When she awoke, the short winter day was ending, and they came to tell her she might go home.

So there really was nothing to it.

The first person she saw in the lobby at home was Lara, sitting on a bench near the elevator.

“Oh,” Lara said, rushing to Connie, “I’ve been here for hours! They wouldn’t let me into your apartment.”

“Why didn’t you say you were coming? Is anything wrong?”

“No, not with us. But you—oh, Connie, I just couldn’t stay away. I’ve been thinking and thinking about you and Richard.” Lara’s voice rose, plaintive and troubled, so that a couple emerging from the elevator turned to stare.

Lara was like that sometimes, naive and artless. Of all times for her to come here! Connie said to herself. Any other day I would have been overjoyed to see her. Now there’ll be a long talk going on half the night, I suppose, with explanations and regrets.

“Come up,” she said, almost peremptorily.

She switched on the lights, bringing to life the living room and the den beyond, all thickly carpeted, the furniture
waxed and gleaming, and the air scented with potpourri.

“Oh, how beautiful!” Lara cried, clasping her hands like a child beholding a Christmas tree.

The gesture irritated Connie, whose legs were suddenly going weak. There had perhaps been something to “it” after all, because she wanted only to lie down again. But then Lara put her arms around her.

“Darling, I would have come to you if I had known you and Richard were having problems. I might even have helped straighten things out between you. Who knows?”

Connie gave a brittle laugh. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. It was not preventable. I never told you the whole story. I planned to do it soon, but I just haven’t felt like talking. Eddy is the only one who knows. Not another soul.” That was true. She had not even told Bitsy yet, although she spoke to her almost every day.

Lara looked stricken. “I’m so very sorry. I can’t tell you how sorry. We were shocked, Davey and I. We liked Richard. We really liked him so much.”

“He’s likable.” Connie spoke dryly, without energy.

Lara gave her a quick look. “You don’t look well, darling. Are you terribly unhappy?”

“As a matter of fact, no. Not terribly, that is.” Her legs were shaking now. “Why are we standing here? Sit down. I’m awfully tired.”

She remembered then that Lara would want dinner. There were vegetables and chops in the refrigerator, but the thought of getting up to prepare them daunted her.

“Actually, I’m not feeling well. Maybe I’m coming down with something.”

“No,” Lara said decisively. “It’s your nerves, and no wonder. You’re going through a crisis. Shall I make you some tea?”

“It’s dinnertime. You must be starved. Wait a few minutes, and I’ll go get it ready.”

“You’ll do nothing of the sort. Stay right there. I can find my way around your kitchen.”

Like Peg, Connie thought.

“What a sumptuous kitchen!” Lara called.

She heard the slam of the refrigerator door and the clink of a pot, cheerful, domestic sounds, reminding her again of Peg. And she was ashamed of having been so unwelcoming to Lara. I really am wrung out, she thought again, and closed her eyes.

When she opened them, Lara was standing in front of her holding a tray with a lamb chop, a salad, and a cup of tea.

“You look too weary to sit at the table, so I’ve brought the tray. But maybe you should have it in bed.”

“No, I’m fine here. It’s lovely. You’re too nice to me,” Connie said. The kindness made her eyes tear. “You always were.”

“Come on, come on. Now, I’ll sit here with you, and if you feel like talking, do. And if you don’t, don’t.”

“You made the salad dressing, didn’t you? It’s good. I don’t bother with meals much anymore.”

Lara reproached her gently. “You should. You mustn’t neglect yourself.”

And seating herself with a tray on her lap, Lara began
to eat, while at the same time, with anxious concern, observing Connie. “Do you want me to talk, Connie? I don’t mean about your troubles either. If you want quiet, just say so.”

“Talk, of course. And as to my divorce, I’ll tell you tomorrow. It’s a long story.”

“All right, then, I’ll tell you something about myself. First, we’ve decided to buy that house. Eddy convinced us that we can afford it.”

“Really? Oh, I’m glad! It’s a lovely house.”

“Wait. There’s bigger news. I almost don’t want to talk about it until it comes true. And you’re the only one I’m telling. But we think—we expect to have a child.”

“You
are
pregnant, then! Oh, my God, how wonderful! You’ve wanted it so. But you don’t look it, you don’t show. When will it be?”

Lara shook her head. “No, darling. I’m not pregnant, and I never will be. We’ve finally made up our minds to adopt, that’s all.”

“Oh. Well. That’s wonderful, too, isn’t it? Tell me about it. I’ve heard one has to be on a waiting list for years, though. Is that true?”

“Well, I hope not. It’s much easier if one agrees to take an older child. So it won’t be a baby. But we don’t mind.”

“Oh.” The brief vision of Lara holding an infant, a miniature edition of herself, had vanished. “Boy or girl?” Connie inquired brightly.

“Whichever we find first. In the meantime we’re getting the spare bedroom ready until we can move.”

Connie had a swift double vision: the sterile glare of
that room this morning when something had been taken away, and the bright clutter of another room which Lara would be filling now with toys and noise and—

“I hope it won’t take too long to leave that dreadful flat behind,” she said.

Lara said, smiling, “I’ve never found it so dreadful,” and Connie smiled back. “You wouldn’t. You never complain.”

It was pleasant to be there in the quiet with her sister, and she was glad, after all, that Lara had come. The food and the hot tea began to revive her. Then she remembered that she had eaten nothing since that morning and said so.

“Whatever made you go all day without eating?”

An odd thought, possibly induced by Lara’s concerned expression, that tenderness of eyes and voice, crossed Connie’s mind: I have always been cared for. First, there was my mother—father, too, in his way, but mostly Peg—then Lara and then Richard. From this thought came a sudden desire to tell everything to Lara now. And starting at the end of her tale she said, “The reason I’m weak is that I’ve just come back from having an abortion.”

Lara’s fork clattered onto the plate. “You what?”

“I had an abortion.”

“I can’t believe what I’m hearing!”

Lara’s body seemed to go limp. Her lips parted, and her head bent forward. She had been instantly, totally stunned. And Connie’s heart began that panicked fluttering again.

“I didn’t know I was pregnant when I left him, not
that it would have made any difference,” she explained. “You don’t know about Richard. He wasn’t a bad person, he was very good, but I couldn’t stay because he was—”

Lara flung up her hand. “What does Richard matter? I don’t care what he was or what he did, but you—you killed your baby!”

Of course. This was how Lara would see it! And Connie reproached herself: I should have kept my mouth shut. Her eyes are absolutely fierce.

“I didn’t exactly love doing it,” she said as quietly as she was able. “But it was necessary, Lara. I had to.… And anyway, it wasn’t: even a baby yet. It was the size of my little finger.” In the face of those eyes, gone dark with horror, she stammered, “Or something like that.”

“You’re lying to yourself. The size! The size! It was alive, breathing and growing, and you murdered it. I—damn you, Connie! I’d have given years of my life to have a child of my own, and I still would give them. Is it fair? God, is it fair?”

Lara jumped up, knocking over her tray; blue Wedgwood broke, and meat gravy splashed brown on Connie’s new beige carpet.

“The carpet!” gasped Connie. “It’s ruined! Ruined! And it was just laid last week.”

She rushed to the kitchen for club soda and rags. Lara picked up the broken dishes. For a few minutes nothing was said while the two women, on their knees, worked to repair the damage.