The House of Eve (41)
“So, Eleanor. I must know. How did you manage to trap him?” she demanded, hands on her slim hips, jewelry gleaming, nostrils flaring.
Eleanor took a wobbly step back. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Oh, you know what I mean.” She sized Eleanor up and snickered. “You must be pregnant.”
Eleanor refused to blink. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Greta.”
“And you will never be a member of Alpha Beta Chi. You will never fit in anywhere. I’ll make sure of it.” She moved in close enough for Eleanor to smell the champagne on her breath. “You aren’t one of us. Go back to the rat hole you crawled out of,” she sputtered. “With your cheap shoes.”
Anger had pelted down on Eleanor so fast and hard that she couldn’t do anything but laugh. “Get on with your life, Greta. There are plenty more fish in the sea, and you can keep the ABCs, I don’t need any of you,” she said and stormed off.
The memories of the fight with Greta, combined with the increasing abdominal pain, made Eleanor feel like she needed to lay down.
William’s roommate had moved to Philadelphia to do his residency at Mercy-Douglass Hospital, and William had given Eleanor a key to his apartment. It was late afternoon, and William had gone to meet his father to shop for his wedding suit. There was an ease to being around William’s things, even when he wasn’t around. She walked the few blocks to his place in LeDroit Park, hoping the fresh air and sunshine would do her some good. Eleanor let herself in and went straight to the Frigidaire.
Twice a week, Rose Pride sent meals to William in color-coordinated Tupperware, and as expected, Eleanor found a container of chicken salad sprinkled with paprika. After spooning a few helpings into a bowl, she broke off a piece of French baguette from the breadbox. The pain continued to ripple in her abdomen and down her back. Had she really worked that hard today? After two bites, she had lost her appetite. Eleanor removed her skirt and blouse and laid across William’s bed in her slip. Propping both pillows under her head, she curled in the fetal position and drifted to sleep.
Cramps stronger than the first day of her menstrual cycle—stronger than anything she’d felt before—jolted her awake. She reached for the water she had left on the bedside table and then stood up but quickly felt the need to hunch over.
Holding on to the wall, she made her way to the bathroom, where she sat on the cold seat and peed. The toilet paper that she brushed between her legs returned with a startling ringlet of blood. Eleanor closed her eyes as a familiar feeling came over her. She started humming the first hymn that came to her mind, “This Little Light of Mine,” over and over. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed when she heard William’s key in the door.
“Elly?”
“I’m here.” Her voice was somber.
William stood on the other side of the bathroom door. “I found my suit. I think you’re going to love it.” He rattled on about his time with his father, the shoes they selected and the people they ran into at the Whitelaw Hotel, where they had stopped for lunch. After a while he asked, “You all right in there? Why are you so quiet?”
A pain rumbled through her, making it difficult to answer. After several seconds passed, William cracked opened the door. “Baby?”
Eleanor was doubled over on the toilet and lifted her face to meet his.
Worry knitted his brows. “What’s the matter? You don’t look so good.”
Her vision blurred. William was speaking, but his voice took so long to reach her, it felt so far away. He stooped down in front of her, bringing her eyes to his. “Tell me what you need. Is it the baby?”
William tried to help her to her feet, but she resisted.
“I’m bleeding.”
He rolled up his sleeves and whispered that he’d be right back. Eleanor could hear him fumbling around in the kitchen and then something crashed to the floor. He returned with a wad of paper towels.
“Here.” He folded them over and made a pad for her to place between her legs.
When he got her on the sofa, he covered her with a quilt. “I’ll call my dad. He’ll know what to do.”
“No,” Eleanor shrieked, not wanting to let his family in. “Call my doctor, his number is in my wallet.”
William took his pointer finger and turned the rotary dialer on the telephone. It took him explaining what was happening at least three times, sweat beading on the bridge of his nose, before he handed her the receiver.
“This is Eleanor,” she said formally, trying to mask the discomfort from her voice.
The nurse asked her to describe her symptoms, and she told her everything that had happened in the last few hours, ending with the blood seeping from between her legs.
Eleanor listened and then waited for the doctor, who asked another round of questions. She answered those too, thanked him for his time and hung up the telephone.
“What did he say?” William’s knees rested against hers as they sat side by side.
With the back of her hand, she dabbed away the snot dripping from her nose that oozed with embarrassment. She wrapped her arms around herself and rocked. Eleanor had not even wanted the baby when she first found out she was pregnant. These feelings of hopelessness and loss that swooned around inside of her were all a surprise. What she should have felt was relief that her whole life wasn’t going to be upended. Instead, she felt devastation that curdled into anger.