The Twelfth Child (Serendipity #1)(68)

“I’ll have something special for you too,” Abigail whispered into the emptiness he’d left behind.



As it happened, the month that John was to spend in the southern states stretched into three. The weather turned cold and an unusual series of sleet storms hit Richmond, leaving the streets so icy that even the most sure-footed people were hesitant to walk anywhere. Driving was no better. In December there were a record number of car crashes and the emergency room of Saint Elizabeth’s Hospital was full from morning to night. One newspaper report claimed there were thirty-two broken legs in a single day.

After Abigail missed her second monthly, she was absolutely certain of the baby growing inside of her. She started to picture a dark-haired girl curled into a comma, her face sweet as an angel’s dream. Although the books said it was too soon for such a thing, she could feel the movement of the baby’s tiny hands and feet. On nights when the sky was black and cold, she'd hear its whisper thin voice calling out mama and she’d wish with all her heart that John could be there to enjoy the moment. “Daddy will be home soon,” she’d coo over and over again to her stomach.

John telephoned eleven times during the month of December and each time he assured Abigail he’d be back soon. “I miss you more than you can possibly imagine,” he told her, but it seemed small consolation for the nights of loneliness. On the twenty-third of the month, she received the red velvet dress he’d sent from Sears and Roebuck. It didn’t fit because her waist had grown wider and her breasts had blossomed to almost twice their original size, but she hung it in the closet and thought about how she’d wear it for the next Christmas, when they were together as a family.

On the coldest day of January, a day when a snowstorm had buckled the telephone poles and cut off electricity to most of the city, John showed up at the door. “I tried to call,” he said, “but the wires were down.”

Abigail, who’d been in bed for three days with a cold worse than any she’d ever encountered, sprung to her feet and danced around as if he was the Maypole. “Oh,” she sighed, “If I’d known you were coming, I’d have dressed up fancy.”

“You look beautiful,” he said, and kissed her.

“I’d have made a roast turkey, stuffed zucchini, a chocolate cake.” That was the meal she’d planned for his homecoming, for the night he’d learn he was going to be a father – everything was supposed to be perfect. Unfortunately, he’d shown up when her nose was red as a springtime tulip and there was no electricity but after three months of missing him, Abigail didn’t care. She dabbed on some lipstick and hurriedly slipped into the pink satin nightgown; her swollen bosom rose up like an armload of ripe melons.

“Whew-eee,” John said, “Get a load of you!” He reached over, untied the shoulder strap and started suckling her nipple; before five minutes had passed he’d slipped inside of her. Abigail wanted the intimacy as much as he did, but she’d hoped it would be slower, more stretched out and lasting.

It was hours later when Abigail whispered that she had a wonderful surprise for John. “Oh?” he answered quizzically.

She sprang from the bed and stood before him, in profile, naked, with her stomach pudged out as far as she could push it. “Notice anything?” she asked.

John’s eyes widened and for a moment he seemed unable to speak.

“Well?”

“You’re not . . .” he gasped, pointing a limp finger at her stomach.

She nodded. “I am. Isn’t it wonderful?”

“Wonderful?”

Abigail had been practicing this moment for so long that the dream had settled into her head as reality and now she was blind to the look of despair on John’s face, deaf to the mournful tone of his voice. “Yes,” she sighed, “we’re having a baby!”

“How?” he asked angrily, “how could such a thing happen? You know damn well, I used a condom. I used a condom every time.”

“I suppose it was God’s will,” she answered.

“God’s will, my ass!”

Suddenly feeling ashamed of her nakedness, she reached into the closet, pulled out a cotton dress and slipped it over her body. “You shouldn’t talk that way,” she said. “We may not have planned this baby, but once we’re married it will be –”

“Married?” he shouted. “I told you –”

“Don’t worry, I’m not asking for you to quit your job. I’ll move to New York. The baby and I can travel with you from time to time. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

“Are you out of your mind? I already told you we’re not getting married.”

Abigail was going to say she thought having a baby would change that, but the words got turned sideways in her throat and she started to sob.

“Please, don’t cry,” John pleaded, and took hold of her hands. “I love you Abigail, I honestly do, but I just can’t marry you.”

She took her hands from his and turned away, sobbing so hard that her words became almost indistinguishable, “Why not?” she moaned, “Why not?”

For a long time he said nothing, then when he finally spoke, the words were as weighted as a body dredged up from the ocean. “I have a wife and two boys in New York,” he said sadly.