The House of Eve (64)

“I don’t need details.”

“Well, what do you need? I can’t stand this distance between us. Maybe if you knew what happened you could forgive me.”

“It’s just a lot to take in at once.” He stretched his legs in front of him and she could see the sadness in his eyes. William was hurting as much as she was. It was his baby, too, and she had lied to him. There had to be a way to break down the shell he had constructed.

Eleanor held the wet cloth up to him. “Can you wash my back?”

He sat still for so long she wasn’t sure he’d heard her, but then he rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt to his elbows. Timidly, he sponged her skin. The warmth drew grief from her pores. His touch and attention felt so good that she didn’t even object when he wet the tips of her hair by accident.

“How do you know this song?” she asked, and William looked up, clearly unaware that he’d been humming along with the radio.

“My great-grandmother played piano. I listened to a lot of classical growing up.”

“Did your mom force you to sing in the youth choir? Mine sure did.”

He shook his head. “I was much too shy,” he chuckled. “Teddy did though. He’s the ham, always out front and center. He plays trumpet, too.”

William dripped the sudsy water across her neck and shoulders and then down across her breasts. The heat made her nipples hard and she lifted her chest out of the water slightly. She knew he took her in by the way his breathing went shallow. Eleanor wanted her husband back.

“I always thought about playing an instrument.”

“You still can.” He reached into the tub and pulled up the plug. The water made a sucking sound as it slipped down the drain. “I’ll set the table and meet you downstairs.”

Eleanor rubbed down with sweet almond oil and then dressed in a fresh top and loose-fitting bottoms. She pulled her damp hair back into a ponytail and then trekked down to the kitchen, where a brown paper bag sat on the counter wafting the smell of tomatoes, oregano, garlic and basil. William pushed a paper cup into her hand.

“This is the best iced tea this side of the Mason-Dixon,” he offered. “Taste it.”

Eleanor sipped. The sugar and lemons went right to her head. “It’s delicious.”

“Told you.”

She felt him coming back to her as she unwrapped the foil from her plate and was overwhelmed with the succulent sight of spaghetti with big, round meatballs. When she brought the fork to her mouth, the food tasted like love.

“Where did you get this from?”

“A new hole-in-the-wall that opened up a few weeks ago across the street from the hospital. The Italian family who owns it just moved from New York.”

Eleanor ate half her plate before pushing it away.

“Saving room for dessert?” William reached into the bag and placed a slice of cheesecake between them. He dug his fork in, then nodded his head in appreciation.

Eleanor almost smiled. “Thank you. For all of this.”

When they were finished with the cake, William put the leftovers in the Frigidaire and then dropped a business card in front of her. “I found this in your discharge bag.”

Eleanor ran her fingers over the card, recognizing it as the one that Mother Margaret had given her in the hospital. In her fog of grief and guilt, she had forgotten all about the holy woman’s visit.

“Oh, yeah. A Catholic nun came to pray with me. She said God works in mysterious ways, and that there was another way.”

“For what?”

“To have a baby, I guess.”

William looked at her expectantly. “Well, what did she say?”

“That she runs a home for pregnant, unwed women. Adoption I think is what she was suggesting.”

“Is it something to consider?” He sipped his iced tea as he waited for her response.

Eleanor had never imagined adoption. She had desperately wanted to give William his own child. One that looked and acted like him, with their shared genes and facial expressions. A child that they’d bring up on the finer side of life like William. A child that would provide the glue that would bond her to him forever. Adoption was never part of the plan.

“I want to give you your own child,” she whispered, feeling defeated.

“I wanted that, too, but after Dr. Avery’s suggestion, I can’t allow you to put yourself through that again. There’s no risk worth losing you.”

Her heart skipped; he still loved her. “What if he’s wrong?”

“And if he’s right? It’s not a chance I’m willing to take.”

Eleanor fidgeted in her seat. “I suppose we could consider other options. I just… this is not the way it was supposed to be.”

“None of this is your fault. It’s a freak act of nature. Don’t blame yourself.”

Eleanor looked down at the business card. The shame of not having a baby had crippled her, and William’s words were a comfort. She didn’t have to do this alone. Perhaps they should explore this other way. When they bought this house, it was with the expectation of filling it with children, toys, holiday memories and laughter.

“I just assumed that you wouldn’t want a child that wasn’t biologically yours.” She moved the straw around in her cup.

“Listen to me.” William caught her eyes. “I’ll do whatever it takes to lift this sadness from you. Why don’t we at least look into it?”