The Middle of Somewhere(80)

Was she? And what did she mean? There was a baby and now there was not. Was that the story? How could she not know? After all of this, how was it possible not to understand? What was perfectly clear at that moment, and in all the moments before, was that she was afraid to tell him. Afraid because he would no longer love her. Afraid because of the anguish she would cause. Afraid because of the person she would reveal herself to be. Her fear was a mountain so tall it had no summit, and so wide she could not circumvent it. It was unconquerable and inescapable, looming over her, casting a chilling shadow wherever she turned. She’d taken refuge there, alone. It was her place, bitter and cramped. She’d had enough of it. And Dante was begging her to relinquish the lie.

She raised her head to look out across the valley where the shadows of the peaks lay in great triangles upon the eastern slopes. She and Dante, alone in the middle of nowhere, with the truth.

She swallowed with effort, and spoke to the mountains. “A baby. There was a baby.”

“What?”

She finally turned toward him. He waited, tension strung tight across his features.

“A month ago, I learned I was pregnant.”

“You’re pregnant?” He leaned closer, amazed. “Now?”

“No.”

A long pause. The moments fell away until he spoke, his voice hushed. “What happened?”

“I had an abortion.”

“What?”

“An abortion. I’m so sorry, Dante.”

He blinked several times, then removed his hat and smoothed his hand over his still-damp hair. He turned the hat over in his hands and put it back on. He shook his head, his lips pursed. “I don’t believe it.”

“But it’s true.”

“You’re saying you were pregnant? And you didn’t tell me?”

She nodded. “I was afraid to tell you. I should have. I’m sorry.”

He shook his head again. “I’m not believing you, Liz. That you would do such a thing. That you would do it and not tell me. That you live with me, share a life with me, and then you would do this . . .” His voice trailed off and he hung his head.

Liz stared at the top of his hat where the stitching came together at the crown. She wanted to lay her hand on his head but did not dare. She was suddenly uncertain of him, and of herself. They were different now, on the other side of a divide, where a random drop might run in a different direction. Like the moment she told Gabriel about Mike. Her world, and Gabriel’s, had pivoted, and tilted sharply, throwing him off, throwing him and his car into oblivion. The change in her was definite. Emptied of her lie, she was carved out, hollow as a cave.

She watched Dante now, her skin prickling, terrified of what she had set in motion, but unable to look away. He exhaled loudly and returned to sit on the log, hunched over, elbows on his knees. He stared at her, his brow furrowed, his eyes begging her to tell him none of this was true. She looked away, shivering. It was getting dark, and cold.

After a few moments, he spoke in a whisper. “Was it mine?”

The question should not have surprised her. How much incrementally greater a sin was infidelity? Would it be easier for him if it had not been his? It didn’t matter. She could not lie now, even for the right reason. “Yes.” She choked on the lump in her throat. “Of course. Yes.”

He rubbed his hand roughly across his face as if wiping away cobwebs. His lips drew tight. She opened her mouth to say more, to apologize again, but his eyes had turned hard and glassy.

“I would never have thought—” He stood abruptly, his arms stiff at his sides. “Remember two days ago I said I trusted you? What a mistake!” He spun away and stooped to pick up a stout branch. He ran three steps, smashed it against a tree and cried out—a sound of agony and fury that echoed back to them. A piece of branch landed near his foot and he kicked it, swearing. Pine needles scattered in a cloud of dust. Liz got up, without knowing why. He strode away several paces, his fists balled, then wheeled around and came to stand in front of her. His eyes were wild with pain. She wanted to flee or at least close her eyes, shut him out, but forced herself to absorb the fallout.

“How could you do this?”

She had no answer.

“A child is a gift from God! A gift!” He cupped his hands to show her. A cradle. “You may not believe this, but you know that I do. Don’t you?” She nodded. He leaned closer, searching her face for someone he once knew. Dissatisfied with what he saw, his anger shifted an inch and became betrayal. “You, Elizabeth. The one I love with all my heart.” Tears filled his eyes. “How could you?”