Книга - Rachel’s Hope

Rachel's Hope
Carole Gift Page


A BABY ON THE WAY…Pregnant? Rachel Webber was stunned by the news. She had a thirteen-year-old son–and never expected more. But the joy she felt for her unborn child was tempered by the realization that her husband might not share her happiness.Lately, David seemed distant. It was as if something had come between them in their once-perfect marriage. Yet as Rachel recalled the thrill of their son's birth–the tender closeness she and her husband had shared then–this mother-to-be knew God had sent her and David a priceless gift.Would this blessed event restore their precious love…and make them a family again?









Table of Contents


Cover Page (#ua5960459-3122-59d8-b567-006d39c94e07)

Excerpt (#ub08f981d-8060-539d-af01-ef9c64b9750b)

About the Author (#u7f62f010-e504-5b11-a6a2-c60e78e36fda)

Title Page (#ue585cb89-d0a5-544f-abb4-8310fd8f6683)

Epigraph (#ubde51b93-2b7f-54d1-88a9-2c65e29cffb1)

Dedication (#ub26738b4-c11b-5f7f-9522-d3b0f2c48ee1)

Chapter One (#u9be46747-eae0-5ae5-bcf9-3c9ae38e9379)

Chapter Two (#uadb6b2e8-f3b5-564f-ade1-ecf67012ef3e)

Chapter Three (#uc167f70f-0fcd-545e-8d7c-980e815dfec5)

Chapter Four (#u7f9a7791-5848-52a1-ab95-535d81221bb1)

Chapter Five (#u8e00bdfe-e030-5b06-b0d8-3a2d00ba0982)

Chapter Six (#u8da086a7-c492-5700-be56-27865d5843c8)

Chapter Seven (#ud430e68d-05c0-50f7-aed1-1c883aed3d6c)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)




“You look great, Rae,” he said, gazing steadily at her.


“You have that glow people talk about.”



“I do?” Her cheeks grew warm. Was she still attractive to David after all?



“You look the same way you did when you were expecting Brian. Remember? I used to tease you about it. I said, ‘If we could bottle that kind of beauty, we’d make a million dollars.’”



“Yes, I do remember,” she said softly. “I always thought you were just trying to make me feel better.”



“No, I was dead serious.” Slowly, tentatively, David moved from his recliner to the sofa. He took her hand in his, his very nearness making her weak, turning her heart to gelatin. “Rachel, sweetheart, I’ve been so worried about you. It’s Christmas and I hate this animosity between us. Isn’t there something we can do to resolve this?”



Tears gathered behind Rachel’s eyes. She yearned to feel herself enfolded in his embrace and to pretend that these bitter weeks apart had never happened, that this was like every Christmas they had spent together and would spend together, for the rest of their lives.



“Oh, David.” She sighed. No other words would come.



Then he moved toward her and gathered her into his arms…




CAROLE GIFT PAGE


writes from the heart about contemporary issues facing adults. Considered one of America’s best-loved Christian fiction writers, Carole was born and raised in Jackson, Michigan. She is the recipient of two Pacesetter Awards and the C.S. Lewis Honor Book Award. Over eight hundred of Carole’s stories, articles and poems have been published in more than one hundred Christian periodicals.



A frequent speaker at conferences, schools, churches and women’s ministries around the country, Carole finds fulfillment in being able to share her testimony about the faithfulness of God in her life and the abundance He offers those who come to Him. Carole and her husband, Bill, have three children and live in Moreno Valley, California.




Rachel’s Hope

Carole Gift Page







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Therefore my heart is glad, and my glory rejoiceth: my flesh also shall rest in hope.

—Psalm 16:9


With all my love, To my mother and father, Aldon and Millie Gift, who have loved each other through over 56 years of marriage.




Chapter One (#ulink_4a99e8ec-0112-50f9-88e9-2723bfb3014d)


Rachel Webber stared at the sign over the physician’s door, her heart jackhammering and a sour taste at the back of her throat. This moment wasn’t real. It had to be a dream. A nightmare.

“This must be it,” said Marlene, her throaty, nononsense voice sounding distant, disconnected. “It says Dr. Bernard Oberg.”

Rachel looked around. She had nearly forgotten Marlene. For one desperate moment she wished their roles were reversed, that Marlene Benson was the expectant mother and Rachel the comforting friend.

“We can’t just stand here, Rachel. You want to know for sure, don’t you?”

Rachel nodded and reached for the doorknob. As impossible as it seemed, she was actually here, forcing herself to face the truth, however unwelcome it might be. She straightened her shoulders and entered the obstetrician’s office, Marlene on her heels. She knew they made a comical spectacle, Marlene nearly shoving her toward the receptionist’s desk. She prayed all eyes wouldn’t be on her, reading her face, guessing her thoughts. As hard as she struggled to put on a brave front, she was on the verge of tears. She could have been facing a firing squad instead of a mere pregnancy test.

Once inside, Marlene heaved herself into an empty chair, but Rachel paused stonily and gazed past the anonymous faces, wondering if she looked as conspicuous as she felt But why should she feel so ill at ease? She was an ordinary woman in her early thirties, not unlike the other women in this office. She had as much right to be here as anyone.

Already she was feeling a twinge of claustrophobia mingled with a ripple of nausea. Dr. Oberg’s waiting room was too close, too warm. It was an oversize walk-in closet camouflaged with nursery bric-a-brac and semigloss paint. The room was uncomfortably small and narrow, with baby blue walls, bare except for an occasional pastel drawing of a child hugging a pink blanket or clutching a teddy bear. The drawings were signed simply Muriel, with no last name.

“May I help you, ma’am?” asked the woman at the reception desk.

“She means you, Rachel,” whispered Marlene. “I don’t need this kind of help—thank goodness!”

“This isn’t something I bargained for, either,” Rachel retorted. She approached the desk and wondered what difference it all made—the walls, the paintings and good old Muriel, whoever she was. There were too many other matters to occupy Rachel’s mind. Questions buzzed inside her skull like swarming, relentless bees, unnerving her, nearly incapacitating her. For all too long she had fretted over the possibility of being pregnant—for days, weeks now. As each day had passed, the idea had grown stronger, more pressing, more probable than before. In desperation she had gone to the drugstore and purchased several home pregnancy tests, but each time the positive sign had appeared she’d convinced herself it couldn’t be accurate.

Realizing at last that she could no longer keep her anxieties to herself, she had turned to Marlene with her apprehensions. “I can’t be pregnant,” she had lamented. “David would be absolutely furious.”

Always the irrepressible and unflappable ally, Marlene had trumpeted, “And he’d have no one but himself to thank, now, would he!” With that, Marlene had gone to the telephone directory and selected a number—the number of a Long Beach obstetrician, a random choice—and dialed. “Rachel,” she’d said, cupping the mouthpiece, “I got you a spot for October 15, at four o’clock.” When Rachel had offered a feeble protest, Marlene had simply handed her the phone and said, “It’s settled. Here, give her your vital statistics.”

But now, standing in this cramped waiting room, Rachel wanted more than anything in the world to turn and run out the door. No, she was through running. She had dodged this dilemma long enough.

“I’m Mrs. Webber…Rachel Webber,” she announced to the receptionist-nurse. Why did she sound so infuriatingly apologetic? Unconsciously, she clutched the side of her knit A-line skirt, straightening it, while the young woman in white offered a professional smile. She was rather pretty, Rachel noted impassively, with her blond hair swept back in a meticulous, efficient coronet at the back of her head. She had the kind of controlled, understated beauty one expected of a nurse.

“Yes, Mrs. Webber,” the woman replied crisply. “We’ll want a urine specimen—you can go right through that door—and when you get back I have some forms for you to fill out.”

Rachel lowered her eyes and obediently left the room, her face flushed with warmth. When she returned, she said quietly, “I left the specimen in the bathroom.”

“Fine. Now, why don’t you have a seat and fill out these forms?”

“How long will it take? I mean, I can find out right away, right? It’s not like you have to wait and see if the rabbit dies or anything.”

Again the receptionist flashed her polite, detached smile. “Yes, Mrs. Webber, we’ll have the results promptly. If you’ll just take a seat, the doctor will see you in about half an hour.”

“Thank you.” Rachel slipped into a vacant chair beside Marlene and tried her best to look nonchalant as she forced a placid expression into place. But her cheeks felt hot, her lips stiff and tight against her teeth. Her face—a mask of aloof indifference—felt so brittle she had the sensation it might shatter if she let down her guard and allowed her surging emotions to break through the protective veneer.

Thank goodness Marlene was there with her. She didn’t have to face this thing alone. She knew she and Marlene made an unlikely duo—Rachel a young housewife and Marlene a middle-aged widow. Marlene was ten years older than Rachel and looked older still. She wore no makeup and kept her dark brown hair in a loose bun at the nape of her neck. Marlene was large boned and, as she laughingly described herself, a bit broad in the beam. “Just call me a big rolypoly teddy bear,” she would say with a note of selfdeprecation. She often complained that no matter where she shopped, she could never find clothing that fit properly. “I’m waiting for tents to come back in style,” she would tell a perplexed salesgirl. Then with a raucous laugh she’d add, “Not tent dresses…army surplus tents!”

That’s what I may be needing soon! Rachel thought darkly.

“Relax,” Marlene soothed. “It’s not the end of the world.”

“Maybe not, but I think I can see it from here,” Rachel said dryly. She set her purse at her feet and leaned back, crossing her legs at the ankle. Marlene’s right, she told herself. This isn’t the end of the world. She gazed ahead at nothing in particular, at the pastel child in the painting clutching his teddy bear, at the blue wall. She breathed deeply, willing her taut muscles to unwind.

Lately, she reflected somberly, it was impossible to relax. She couldn’t read through an entire article in a magazine. She couldn’t even concentrate on the paperback she’d brought along in her purse. How could she possibly relax when she might be going home to David with a positive pregnancy test?

She could not afford to be pregnant now. A pregnancy would change her whole life; it would ruin everything. She didn’t want to know, but soon she would know. In a half hour a doctor she had never seen before would come and tell her the future course of her life—just like that, the whole future course. How ironic could you get?

Marlene was chuckling over a Baby Time magazine, scanning pages of adorable, bouncing babies and shaking her head. “Deliver me!” she said.

And me along with you, thought Rachel.

For the first time since entering the waiting room, she dared to let her gaze focus on the other clients. A young couple, surely just teenagers, sat close to each other on an orange vinyl couch. The girl, in a flannel shirt and bib overalls, flipped idly through a baby magazine. The boy, tall and lanky with stringy, shoulder-length brown hair, studied the walls and ceiling with an intense concentration while tapping knobby fingers nervously on the arm of the couch.

“Look at this beautiful nursery furniture, Jeff,” Rachel heard the girl say. “Whitewashed oak! Wouldn’t you love to have that for the baby?”

The boy glanced at the picture, grunted and stared back at the ceiling. “Your mother doesn’t have room in her house for that kind of stuff,” he answered hoarsely. “We’ll be lucky to squeeze in a crib.”

“Poor kids,” Marlene murmured from behind her magazine.

Another woman, dark haired and plain—perhaps in her early thirties, like Rachel—sat serenely reading a book. Rachel couldn’t help staring. The woman was huge, monstrous. She was obviously due any moment now. Had Rachel been that large when she carried Brian? She couldn’t have been, but she couldn’t remember. It had been thirteen years ago.

The woman looked up, catching Rachel’s stare. They exchanged quick, embarrassed smiles and turned their eyes away.

Rachel had to admit there was something fascinating about a woman who could sit patiently reading when at any moment all of her life forces could be called into action for the delivery of a child. For Rachel childbirth had been an awesome, turbulent experience, something for which she had conscientiously prepared her entire mind and body, right down to the nerve endings. But when Brian was born—when the pains had started and the waves and turbulence had swept over her—she had realized that no amount of preparation was quite enough. It had been a breech birth. Touch and go. Brian had come out a pallid blue and struggling for life. She could have lost him. She would never forget the cold terror of those harrowing moments.

But the woman across from Rachel appeared totally untroubled, as if she were quite ready to accept whatever pain or discomfort she would have to bear. Rachel envied her, for rarely could she herself sit back calmly and let things come as they would and pass over her. Somehow it was too important for Rachel to be in control, in the driver’s seat, steering her life the way she felt it ought to go.

Not that she always steered so well, though!

Rachel shifted uncomfortably in her chair, willing the time away. It occurred to her she should pray for a negative report so she could get out of this crackerbox office and forget this absurd fear that she might be pregnant.

But what if she was pregnant? What then?

“David will have a fit,” she said aloud.

Marlene rallied from her magazine. “What’d you say?”

“David—he’s so involved in…in other things these days. One thing our marriage doesn’t need is a baby!”

“It’s a little late for regrets, isn’t it?”

“It’s too late for a lot of things.” Please, dear Lord, don’t let it be, Rachel willed silently. Please don’t let there be a baby!

Marlene reached over and squeezed Rachel’s hand. Her round, doughy face held a beatific shine. “Remember, gal, there’s no problem too big for God. When my Harry died, I felt like I hit rock bottom. That’s when I knew Christ was real. He took me by the hand and said, ‘Honey, it’s all right. You’re going to be okay. Just walk with Me.’”

Rachel grimaced. “Might as well have asked you to walk on water or something.”

“No, Rachel, even losing weight I don’t imagine I could walk on water. But walking with Him is possible.”

Rachel looked away. “I try to live my faith, Marlene, I really do. But lately it’s hard enough just plodding through each day.”

“Maybe you’re trying too hard,” said Marlene. “Following Jesus is so simple, so beautiful. Are you still digging into God’s Word every day? And letting the Holy Spirit get hold of your life?”

“I try, but…” Rachel’s words drifted off.

“Well, stop trying, gal,” Marlene boomed, loud enough for everyone to hear, “and let God do it. Put your burdens on Him. His Son is a real person. Not just a man in history. We’re not talking pie-in-the-sky religion here.”

“Maybe we should talk about it later,” Rachel suggested. She realized she was still holding the forms the receptionist had given her. She searched her purse for a pen and scribbled into the blank spaces the information requested. Name. Address. Telephone number. Insurance. She couldn’t remember whether their insurance covered pregnancy. She would have to check with David. No, she would call the insurance company instead.

She laid the forms aside and glanced at her reflection in the oval mirror on the opposite wall, noting with relief that, in spite of her discomfiture, she looked intact, perhaps even attractive. Her makeup was correct. She had good eyes, she was confident of that. Clear cerulean blue, thickly lashed. Her brows were a trifle too arched and her mouth perhaps too full and wide to be pretty. But her medium-length honey brown hair had been done that morning. Jenny from the Carousel Beauty Salon did her hair each week, making the thick, tawny curls fall softly onto Rachel’s forehead and caress her high cheekbones.

Even if she wasn’t a classic beauty, David considered her pretty. And she was still young—wasn’t she? Surely thirty-two couldn’t be old—not these days when women even in their fifties were having babies. Long ago, when she and David were dating, he had told her she had the grace of a Madonna. He said no one walked with as much grace as she.

Rachel smiled inadvertently. Did David really say things like that once? It must have been some other lifetime, some other Rachel—the old Rachel. The girl she was when they were first married. The high school girl who could hardly wait for graduation, who less than two weeks later became Mrs. David Webber in one of those gaudy little wedding chapels in Las Vegas. That naive girl in rose-colored glasses had been gone for a long time, Rachel acknowledged mordantly.

Rachel shifted in her chair. Waiting for the nurse to call her name was a royal pain. What was there to do but to think and remember? Or talk to Marlene. But Marlene had her nose buried in another magazine. With a sigh of resignation Rachel sat back and permitted the reels of memory to spin through her mind like old film clips.

She thought of Brian. What would he think about a baby? He was an awkward thirteen, a loner. He would be fourteen when the baby came—if a baby came. Hard to imagine that it was thirteen years since Brian had been born. Had it really been that long? She and David had been married only a year, and David had still had another year before he would receive his engineering degree from California State University at Long Beach. Rachel had had to give up her typing job and her cherished drama courses to take care of Brian, and David had taken a part-time job at night to pay the rent on their small Long Beach apartment.

“It’s never been easy,” Rachel murmured. She didn’t realize she’d said the words aloud until Marlene looked up and asked what she had just said.

“Nothing important. Just thinking out loud.”

“So tell me.”

Rachel shrugged. “To be honest, I was thinking how pleasant life was before Brian was born. David and I had so much fun our first year together—art lectures and films at the university, pizza parties with other students, drives to Solvang or San Diego. I remember our long walks around Knott’s Berry Farm, munching popcorn as we peered in the windows of that old ghost town.”

“Sounds very romantic,” Marlene mused. “But a baby does change things.”

“Don’t get me wrong, Marlene. We wanted Brian. We really did. But David and I rarely saw each other after his birth. David was in class all day or at the library studying. He’d come home for dinner before rushing off to his job at the garage, or grab a sandwich somewhere. I wouldn’t see him until he collapsed into bed beside me long after midnight.”

“And you think it’ll be that way again, with a new baby?”

“Won’t it? I don’t think I could do it again, Marlene. I remember how tired I was—and depressed. Brian was a fussy, demanding baby. He kept me constantly on the run. He fretted when he was alone and was always into things. He screamed so much when I put him in the playpen I could barely take a shower or make a phone call.”

“Didn’t David help? Share some of the work?”

“David was always busy, preoccupied with his studies or work. On weekends he parked himself in front of the TV, watching football or baseball, or caught up on his sleep. He worked so hard all week, I guess I felt he had the right to do as he pleased on the weekend. I had to chase after Brian to keep him from disturbing his father.”

“Surely things improved after David graduated,” said Marlene.

“Yes, for a while. David landed a great engineering position in the aerospace industry and quit his evening job. He had regular hours and spent more time at home. Brian was older and more settled. And he sure loved to roughhouse with his dad.”

“Wasn’t Brian about three when you moved into the condo next door?”

Rachel nodded. “David was so excited when he found that condo. We had finally saved enough money for a down payment on a house, but he wanted that flashy condo.” Rachel sighed, remembering the brochure David had brought home. The development had been advertised as one of Southern California’s most luxurious complexes, surrounded by palm trees, tropical shrubs and lush, blood red bougainvillea. It had the usual swimming pool, of course, and colored lights everywhere.

From the start Rachel had reservations about the condo. It wasn’t suited to a growing family. The place gave off an artificial impression of opulence, but it wasn’t practical or comfortable. Rachel would have preferred buying a larger but less ostentatious house—maybe a roomy old Victorian fixer-upper with a large yard and a picket fence in a settled section of Long Beach. But why mention it again? Marlene had heard it all before. A house would have provided room to stretch and grow, where Brian could play ball and fly kites, where they could plant a vegetable garden and rosebushes, and raise collie puppies and maybe even a couple of Angora kittens.

But David had a thousand reasons why the condo was a better buy. It was new and impressive and practically maintenance free. It was in an upper-scale neighborhood and yet close to the freeway, and it wouldn’t depreciate as quickly as an old house in a declining neighborhood. And the condo would be easier to unload if the economy took another downturn, he told her, in case they were forced to relocate out of state. His firm relied on government contracts to survive, and David worried constantly about losing a job if the news reported the slightest dip in the economy. “In this life it’s best to remain flexible,” David told her time and again. “Travel light Don’t carry too much baggage. Be ready to pull up stakes, if necessary. Don’t sink your roots in too deeply or you’ll find yourself stuck in a rut.”

Well, for all David’s platitudes, she felt as if they were most definitely stuck in a rut. They had lived in the same condo for ten years now. Sometimes, particularly on Sunday afternoons, they would go for a drive and stop to look at model homes. They would walk through the professionally decorated rooms, praising a painting or commenting on the rich teal green of the carpet or the exquisite pattern of the wallpaper. They would survey the fine assortment of family rooms and dens, playrooms and bonus rooms that many of the homes boasted. It was at such model homes that Rachel had seen the large walk-in closets—nearly as large as this very office—and the master bedrooms that were practically a home in themselves. On such excursions, David would remark, “One of these days we’ll have a house like this, big and fancy as a palace…” Silently she would muse that she’d be happy with one of those old Victorian fixer-uppers or even an old farmhouse in the country. But lately, she realized, David had stopped talking about buying another home.

In fact, lately David seemed to be pulling away from Brian and her. She hated to admit it—wouldn’t breathe a word of it to Marlene—but David’s life was increasingly disconnected from theirs. Of course, they had gone their separate ways for years. But this was something else, something more.

Again the suspicions nagged her. What about David? What was he doing? What was going on? Or was she being crazy to wonder about him when there was really no reason? What was wrong with her that she doubted her own husband? God forgive my suspicions! she silently prayed.

But no matter what the problems now, Rachel reminded herself, once her marriage had been good. At least, until—when was it? When did she and David really begin to grow apart?

There was only one answer to that question, and she felt guilty even thinking it. It was after she met Marlene. When was that? Five, six years ago? Yes. Brian was nearly eight. Marlene moved into the condo next door, alone. Her husband had died of a heart attack several years before. They had no children.

In spite of her loss, Marlene was a generous, funny, wonderfully open person. She had a quality of love and warmth about her that drew Rachel. In this one plain, lovely, outspoken woman Rachel found the sympathetic understanding of a mother, big sister and friend.

It hadn’t taken Rachel long to discover that Marlene had fascinating and deeply entrenched opinions about many things—what it meant to be a woman, a Christian woman; what her responsibilities were to herself and to others; what her relationship ought to be to God. Marlene had related her opinions one afternoon while they had coffee in Rachel’s apartment

Even now, sitting stiffly, impatiently in Dr. Oberg’s waiting room, Rachel recalled Marlene’s words—the quiet, direct way she’d spoken of Jesus Christ and His resurrection and His desire to live in a person’s heart.

Rachel’s amazement had turned to curiosity, then to hunger. Here was Christianity as she had never heard it before—beautiful, powerful, capable of giving life a meaning she had always wished for but never dreamed possible. It involved so many things she was familiar with—Jesus of Nazareth, Christmas and Easter. Things everyone knew about. But then, why hadn’t anyone told her that religion was just the periphery, that the center of it all was Christ?

“Rachel, honey, Jesus got off that cross a long time ago,” Marlene had assured her. “He’s not lying in that tomb anymore. He’s alive, He’s God and He loves you.”

Marlene had prayed with Rachel that day and led her like a child to Christ. For a long while after that, Rachel had felt the wonder of innocence and the amazement of childhood in her blood again. She was free, clean. Even her daily routine took on purpose. It had all been so good.

It was still good, Rachel noted silently, but things were different now. She couldn’t deny that some of the sparkle was gone. The sheen of her brand-new faith had worn thin and faded with the passing of months and years.

It wasn’t entirely Rachel’s fault. If only her faith hadn’t become a wedge in her marriage. If only David shared her faith instead of resenting it. If only he would encourage Brian’s faith by attending church with them occasionally, things would be so different.

And now, in recent weeks, there were other things—vague, disturbing things Rachel hardly dared put into words: David’s preoccupation, his aura of secretiveness when she questioned him about his activities. He inevitably brushed her off with an excuse that he worried about work.

But was it the truth? Or was her marriage in even deeper trouble than she suspected? Could it be that David had found a new interest…someone else? Until now Rachel hadn’t dared to put the thought into words.

She chastened herself for harboring such suspicions. But the nagging questions could not be erased. Rachel’s mind wavered between two poles—the agony that her suspicions might be correct and a gnawing guilt over the fact that she did not trust her husband.

Was it any wonder she didn’t want to face a pregnancy now? Marlene just didn’t understand. How could Rachel bring another life into the tangled web of her marriage? It was all she could do to cope with David and Brian. And lately, she was hardly able to cope with anyone—or anything—at all.

“Mrs. Webber? Mrs. Webber! The doctor will see you now.”

Rachel frowned, attempting to swing her thoughts back to the present, struggling to recognize the voice that spoke her name. Who called her? But of course—the nurse.

Marlene gave her a nudge. “That’s you, gal.”

Rachel tried to rise casually, but she felt herself on the verge of leaping from her chair. The rotund lady seated across the room glanced up momentarily from her book, a flicker of interest lighting behind her eyes. The two teenagers offered curious stares, and Rachel felt an inexplicable impulse to apologize for something, to say, at least, “Excuse me.”

She said it with her eyes but kept her lips tightly closed as she met the starched woman’s professional gaze, then passed through the open door to the examining room.

Twenty minutes later, wrapped in a disposable paper gown, Rachel sat facing Dr. Oberg, a tall, lanky man with a bountiful head of curly hair.

“Well,” the mild-mannered physician declared brightly, “the results are in.” He glanced at the slip of paper he held as if it were a cue card and, with a smile, informed her, “As you probably already suspected, the test was positive, Mrs. Webber.”

“Positive?” she echoed. She felt the color rise in her cheeks. “Are you sure? Couldn’t there be a mistake?”

“Oh, no, Mrs. Webber. My examination confirmed it. You are pregnant.” He patted her hand gently, almost a fatherly gesture. “Is there a problem? It is Mrs., isn’t it?”

“Yes, but my husband and son—they’ll be…surprised.”

“Pleasantly, I hope.”

“So do I.”

“Do you have other family nearby…to offer support?”

Rachel averted her gaze. “No. My parents died in a car crash when I was a teenager. And my husband’s family lives in a small town in Ohio. We rarely see them.”

“I see,” said Dr. Oberg. He studied her chart for a moment. “I notice your son was a breech birth. There’s no reason to expect another breech, you know. We’ll anticipate a normal, healthy pregnancy. Tell me, do you have any questions?”

Rachel shook her head, her mind numb.

“Well, then,” said Dr. Oberg, resuming an air of formality, “if you’ll check with my nurse on the way out for your next appointment…”

Moments later Rachel walked out of the office, dazed, telling herself, This can’t be real. It must be someone’s clever prank, a hoax. Pregnant! What would she tell David? Surprise! We’re going to have a baby. Just what our marriage needs.

Marlene caught up with her on the sidewalk, breathless. “Rachel, honey, don’t forget me.”

“I’m sorry. I—”

“The test?”

“Positive. Oh, Marlene, how will I tell David?”

“Maybe…pray about it?”

“I can’t. I’m past praying.”

On the way home Rachel had a daring idea. She would not tell David anything at all. Not yet. Why stir up trouble? Why muddy the waters? It would be weeks yet before she began to show. Anything could happen. The future was anybody’s guess. There was time to work on her marriage, to improve her relationship with David, to prepare him for this so-called “blessed event.”

Yes! Why not? For the present her pregnancy would remain her secret.




Chapter Two (#ulink_82cfb54d-d204-53b6-b607-ce55f1b75c0f)


It was late October, cold and storm-cloudy. David Webber gazed for a few moments into the dusky, smog-tinged dreariness outside his office window, then turned his attention back to his computer and the work at hand. The prints for the anti-icing design for the new regional jet had to be ready for the customer by 5:00 p.m. He fished through his desk drawer for paper clips, but as usual, couldn’t find anything when he wanted it. Rubber bands, pencils and erasers, scratch paper and marking pens. But no paper clips. Impatiently he slammed the desk drawer, saying something unintelligible under his breath.

David caught a glimpse of his scowling reflection in the expansive windows beyond his desk. He wasn’t one to think often about his looks, but when he did he had to admit to a modicum of conceit. Although nearing his mid-thirties, he had managed to maintain his athletic physique. It helped, of course, having good genes and being over six feet tall. Weekends of tennis and jogging under a hot California sun had tanned his skin a deep reddish brown, giving him a rugged, weather-beaten, even seafaring appearance. Rachel used to tell him with an admiring smile that he looked like one of those macho film stars—he could never keep up with the names. Come to think of it, it had been ages since she’d said anything like that.

These days it was Kit Kincaid, the engineering secretary, who fed his ego with effusive praise. She had even teasingly remarked that it must have been his double in that ubiquitous TV ad showing a smiling, virile, more-than-handsome workman chugalugging a diet soda while the office girls swooned with admiration. The comment had secretly pleased David. He was glad Kit considered him handsome—a man’s man and, yes, a woman’s man.

He looked back at his desk. Paperwork was strewn about like gigantic pieces of confetti. Before David could make sense of the chaos, Ralph Mercer, one of the draftsmen, came striding his way. “Webber, have you gone over the check prints of my drawing?”

“Which drawing?”

“Last Friday’s. The top assembly for the anti-ice system,” Ralph reminded him.

“Yeah, it’s here—somewhere.” He riffled through a mound of papers. “Yes, here it is.” He had merely set the Wellman test report on top of it. “Look, I’ll check the drawing once more and get it right back to you.”

The draftsman left abruptly, only slightly mollified.

David scanned the drawing, remembering now that everything was all right. If the draftsman had waited a minute, he could have taken the check print with him. Now David would have to deliver it personally. Irritated, he wrapped the check print around a roll of vellums for the Hiller job. Might as well deliver everything at once.

Casually he aimed his vision at Kit’s desk. With her curly, honey blond hair tousled around her ivorysmooth face, she looked younger than her twenty-five years. He’d never have guessed they’d become such close friends. Yet Kit had a certain mature, even worldly outlook that had impressed David from the start. She was easy to talk with and he always felt relaxed and more positive about life in her company. Once Rachel’s company had made him feel that way. But those days were long gone, he reflected sadly.

Kit was typing something, unaware of his gaze. With drawings in hand he headed for her desk. Paper clips were a good excuse—a reason to interrupt her work, talk to her, make her smile.

“Talk a minute?” he asked when she looked up, startled.

She smiled. “Okay, David. Sure.”

He lowered his voice a degree and assumed what he considered a tone of stern authority. “Miss Kincaid, you are the secretary to the engineering department, are you not?”

She studied him with a curious half smile. “You know I am.”

“Then you, my dear, are responsible for keeping us supplied with such indispensable items as paper clips, right?”

“Yes, I suppose so…”

“Now I must warn you, Miss Kincaid, if you forsake these small but important duties, you’ll only go on to greater negligence in the future.”

She stifled a laugh. “Come on, David. Are you out again? What do you do? Eat them?”

He winked. “Sure. It gives me an excuse to talk to you.”

Her voice softened. “Since when do you need an excuse, David?”

He inhaled sharply. “All right, young lady, give me six boxes now, or I’ll find your supply and pilfer the entire stock. Then where will you be?”

She leaned toward him and raised her face to his. “Right here, where I want to be. With you.”

She looked delightfully impish, as if there were many wonderful secrets locked in her head, which she would share only when she chose to, with whom she chose.

“Here are your paper clips,” she announced brightly, removing a small cardboard box from her desk. “Are you planning to make me a necklace?”

“Yeah, but not out of paper clips.” He fumbled with the drawings he forgot he was holding. “Say, Kit,” he added softly, making his voice sound as if they were still talking about paper clips. “Kit, how would you like to get a bite to eat after work?”

Her face showed surprise. “Tonight? Don’t you need to be home?”

Although they’d had lunch together a few times, David had never before asked to spend time with her after work. As he observed her reaction, he felt surprised himself at what he’d done and almost hoped she’d turn him down.

“I just phoned Brian a few minutes ago, and he said Rachel is out shopping. He doesn’t know when she’ll get back.” He thrummed his fingers on her desk. “So I told him I have to work late. I thought we’d at least have time to grab a sandwich. But if you’d rather not…”

“No, that’s all right. I’d like to. But I’ll have to call my roommate. She thought I’d be home. She was going to try something fancy for dinner. A soufflé or something. She won’t want to bother just for herself. I’ll just let her know I won’t be joining her.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t let you know sooner.”

“That’s okay. I’m just glad for the chance to be with you. You know that.”

“Yeah, me, too.” He glanced around guardedly. “Meet you in the parking lot, okay?”

“Sure.”

David delivered the check print and vellums, then returned to his desk and shuffled idly through the odds and ends of paperwork—government specifications, purchase orders and engineering estimate forms. He worked mindlessly with the paper clips, attaching them to the corners of papers, but his eyes—and his thoughts—remained on Kit across the room. Finally, to appear occupied, he scanned the current issue of Aviation Week.

After work, because their time together was so limited, David drove Kit to the nearby Hamburger House, where they took a back booth and ordered promptly. This place was perfect, only blocks from Kit’s apartment and halfway between work and David’s condo. It was a spot usually crowded at this hour with the after-five teenage traffic from the nearby junior college. It was a place where the two of them could be unnoticed, ignored, lost in the crowd.

As he sipped his cola, David watched several teenagers swaying to a rock tune, their limber bodies graceful as velvet sashes strung in the breeze. His son, Brian, was a teenager now. One day a child you could wrestle with and jounce in the air. One day a child, and the next…Now Brian was reaching into another world. Perhaps he would be swept up like all the other kids his age, forced to join and conform or to test and try the limits. Most likely, he would attempt to defy the established order of things. It was expected these days.

Still, it startled David to find himself massing his son with all the others—the rebels, the freaks, even the majority of good kids who still experimented with one thing or another. Morals were like that now. Everyone saw what he wanted to see, even David. He did what he pleased, stretched the limits and rearranged the boundaries. Brian would be no different—no better and no worse.

“Are you coming back soon?”

“What?”

Kit was sitting across from him in the booth, beaming, a peculiar half smile on her polished red lips. “I said, if you don’t come back soon from wherever you’ve wandered, I’m going to steal your dill pickle and carrot sticks.”

“Be my guest.”

“Where were you?”

“Thinking about Brian.”

“Is he in some kind of trouble?”

David grimaced. Not as much as I am. “No, not at all,” he said with a note of defensiveness. Why had he even mentioned Brian? Now he felt compelled to assure Kit everything was fine. “He loves eighth grade. He’s doing well. No complaints from anyone, as far as I know.”

“Well, then?”

David hated being put on the spot. “I was—I don’t know—just imagining him being like these kids. They’re a whole new breed.”

“And it’s hard to picture Brian being one of them, right?”

He shrugged. “He’s my son. I love him.”

“He’ll do okay. From what you’ve told me, he’s a great kid.”

“He is,” David agreed, shaking steak sauce on his sandwich.

“I wish I could meet him.”

David glanced up, startled. He felt his neck muscles tighten. “I wish you could, too, Kit. But it’s just not possible. You know that.”

Kit flushed. “David, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything. It was just an idle remark. I’m not trying to push you. Really, I’m not.”

“I know, Kit. I’m sorry. I get wound up sometimes and shoot off my big mouth.”

“But I know I don’t make things any easier for you.”

“It’s not your fault. It’s just the way things are.”

“For what it’s worth, David, I adapt easily,” she said. “If a friendship is it—just what we have now—fine. If more comes, that’s fine, too. If not, I understand. Do you know what I’m saying, David?”

“I know what you’re saying, Kit. And I know you understand. I guess that’s why I like being with you so much. But relationships aren’t static. They grow and change. They take on a life of their own,” he added, thinking about his own marriage as much as his friendship with Kit.

She traced a water ring with one long, polished nail. “Like you’ve said before, we’ll just take our time…and see what happens.”




Chapter Three (#ulink_4cbb932d-60c3-5784-abed-d116738c59ce)


The late October sky was rain swollen and color streaked. It had not started to storm yet, but it would, and soon. As Rachel aimed her teal green sedan homeward through late-afternoon traffic, she tried to imagine how the evening would be. After two weeks of guarded silence, tonight she would tell David about the baby. Before he arrived home, she would toss a salad and put in potatoes to bake. Then she would cook fresh broccoli and broil the porterhouse steaks she had just purchased at a special butcher shop. She had forgotten to pick up sour cream, but she could whip up David’s favorite cheese sauce, and there were fresh mushrooms in the refrigerator. Perhaps they could even eat by candlelight, or was that considered gauche now? She would decide later.

Once dinner was started, Rachel thought she would change into something else, perhaps one of her long gauzy skirts that David liked so much. She hardly wore them lately. She would wait until they had eaten—probably wait even until Brian was in bed—before telling him about the baby. She would be calmer; so would he. They would discuss things intelligently. Perhaps it would not really be so bad. Perhaps a baby would not be a catastrophe after all.

But on entering the condo, Rachel felt an immediate surge of irritation. Brian was home, sprawled on the sofa, staring impassively at the six-o’clock pro football game on television, his heavy hiker boots propped on her glass coffee table. And he was scarfing down greasy potato chips, the crumbs scattering all over her rose velvet sofa. His straight, light-brown hair spilled over his high, ruddy forehead, shading his heavy-lidded hazel eyes. He was wearing a striped rugby shirt and baggy jeans. He looked up from the flickering screen and must have sensed her displeasure, for he swung his feet to the floor and moved the bag of chips to the coffee table.

She forced the irritation out of her voice, inquiring, “Have you been home long, Brian?”

His wide, chiseled mouth settled into a pout. “Yeah, a little while.”

“You came right home from school then?”

“Uh-huh.”

Rachel set down her purse and removed her suede patchwork jacket, her annoyance lingering. “I thought maybe you’d be out with your friends.”

“Naw, they got soccer practice.” It was still a sore point that he hadn’t made the team. He hesitated. “I was wondering though,” he began, a sudden lilt in his voice. “I met this guy at school today, Ronnie Mayhew. He’s ahead of me—in the ninth grade. He’s a real cool guy, Mom, and I wondered if he could come over tonight? He’s going to bring some of his CDs.”

“You want someone over tonight, Brian?” Rachel’s mind raced. Tonight had to be special, and there was still so much to do. She stalled. “This is a school night, remember?”

“Yeah, but Ronnie’s mom said he can come if it’s all right with you. He found this cool chat room on the Internet, and—”

“You know I don’t like you surfing the Internet. You don’t know who’s out there.”

“Come on, Mom, it’s totally safe. Would you rather have me out on the streets, hanging out or something?”

She stared him down. “I’d rather have you here in your own room doing your homework. Especially your algebra.”

“It’s done, Mom. No lie! I did it in my free period. So can Ronnie come over?”

“Oh, Brian, please!”

“Listen, Mom, most of the time ninth graders don’t even want to hang out with guys in eighth grade.” Her son sat up, leaning forward, his neck and arms angular, his shoulders taut, as if somehow he had to impress upon her physically the importance of his request. She chose to ignore it.

“Brian—Brian, not tonight, please. Maybe tomorrow. Ask him for tomorrow night.”

The boy scowled. “Yeah, sure. He probably won’t want to come then.”

“Then he’s not much of a friend.”

“Aw, Mom, come off it.”

“That’s enough, Brian.” Rachel wasn’t winning this one at all. She didn’t want to contend with Brian now when there was so much on her mind, so much to do, to plan. She had already endured a couple of weeks of morning sickness, hiding out in the bathroom until David left for work so he wouldn’t guess the truth. She’d finally had enough of covering up her condition. She was determined to tell David tonight. But should she take Brian into her confidence? It might help to have him as her ally. She looked at him, searching his face, and wondered for a moment just who her son was now.

Last year, when Brian was twelve, he’d seemed small to Rachel; his face was plain and round, unmarked, still sweet, a child’s face. His body was still child-like soft and smooth. Young girls and boys seemed alike, all soft and smooth. They all had untouched faces, open and wide and wondering.

Now Brian was thirteen, and already his face had begun to close, to change, to take on new facets and meanings somewhere behind the eyes. Now his body was suddenly stretching, breaking through the softness, making angles of his arms and legs. In just one year a shrewdness and a new curiosity had registered on his face, around his mouth.

As if to confirm the unseen changes, Brian’s face was no longer smooth. Hints of pimples appeared on his chin and forehead. He was becoming someone Rachel wondered if she knew. It was too soon for this sort of thing, too soon. The changes, coming so fast, left Rachel a little bewildered at times, confused as to how she should handle her son. Should she treat him as a child? As a man? He was Brian, whoever Brian was becoming. But she could not think of Brian now.

She sat down beside him and put the potato chip bag on her lap. She rolled the slick edges of the bag between her fingers, unaware she was doing so. “Brian,” she said, “I didn’t want to go into this until I talked with your father, but I guess there’s no reason you can’t know now.”

“Know what, Mom?” He had slouched back against the cushions, his hazel eyes impassive, watching her.

“Do you remember when I went to the doctor’s for a checkup a couple of weeks ago? Well, I found out…I found out I’m going to have a baby.”

He sat up, suddenly alert The amazement in his voice was genuine. “You’re kidding, Mom.”

“No, I’m afraid not.”

His wide mouth curled at one corner. “A baby? That’s really something. I mean, I never thought of a baby. You aren’t too old or anything?”

Rachel’s irritation was returning. “No, I’m not too old,” she snapped. Then, more softly, “But it was a surprise to me, too.”

“Does Dad know?” he quizzed eagerly.

Rachel shook her head. “No, I haven’t told him yet.”

“Boy, will he be flipped out. When are you going to tell him?”

“I’ll tell him tonight, after dinner. That’s why I’d rather your friend come over another time.”

“Yeah, sure. Okay,” he said, nodding, then added, “But Dad won’t be home for dinner.”

A knot of disappointment tightened in her chest. “Why not?”

“He called a while go. I told him you were out shopping. He said he had to work late. Said he’d grab a bite on the way home.”

“Great.” She sighed. There goes my porterhouse-steaks-and-candlelight plan, she thought She knew she should have called David at the office to see if he’d be home at his usual time, but she’d had no chance.

“We still gotta eat,” Brian reminded her.

Rachel felt deflated. Her energy had vanished. “How about a hamburger?”

“Rad. How about the Hamburger House, where Dad takes us sometimes? They have great shakes.”

She was too tired to argue. “All right, if you get the food to go. I don’t feel like going in.”

Dutifully, her spirits ebbing, Rachel drove Brian to the Hamburger House and waited in the car while he went in for hamburgers, shakes and fries. She sat with the window rolled partly down, her polished fingernails lightly tapping the leather-wrapped steering wheel, her eyes momentarily catching a glimpse of passing strangers. She focused briefly on a gas station being torn down across the street, then turned her gaze to the restaurant’s neatly lettered window signs advertising the special of the week: Fudge Sundae Delight, with whipped cream and nuts.

The sky had remained the same. Dusky gray clouds ready to burst into drenching rain hovered overhead, swollen and heavy like a great woman in waiting, as she herself would be in time. Why didn’t it just rain and get it over with? Why did things have to stand still, horribly, oppressively still?

Rachel’s mind was somewhere else, her thoughts wandering, so she might have missed David and the girl entirely. At first she only vaguely realized it was David coming out the door, David and a young girl who looked familiar and yet was a stranger.

Rachel’s first impulse was to call out to her husband, to say, “Here I am, David. Funny to run into you here.” The impulse was squelched immediately by something else, a dread, a terrible feeling of being trapped in a bad dream. David was walking with some girl—a pretty, stylishly dressed blonde. Who was she? Why were they together? He was supposed to be at the office, working late.

Could Rachel be wrong? Could the man be someone who only looked like David? No. She watched as they strolled to a vehicle and climbed in. It was David’s fiery red sports car with the auto club sticker on the bumper. No doubt about it. The man was David. The way they had walked, the two of them, with a close, companionable air, her cheek nearly brushing his shoulder, and the way his hand touched her waist as he helped her into the car suggested there was something between them. They looked comfortable together, more than friendly; totally focused on each other in an intense way that filled Rachel’s heart with cold dread.

Rachel could feel it like a shock. They were more than acquaintances. Maybe even more than friends. There was something heavy going on, and the knowledge of it shot through Rachel’s body like hot gunfire, leaving her wrists and ankles weak. Without a word, with only an unintended glimpse, her worst suspicions had been confirmed and the plain facts made her numb. Her husband had strayed. Had found someone else. And while Rachel’s world reeled and spun around her, David and the girl simply got into his car and drove away without once seeing Rachel there at all.




Chapter Four (#ulink_d5207420-a498-523b-bb12-388056825997)


“Are you hungry, David?” Rachel asked, watching her husband with cool, careful eyes.

“No,” he said. He was loosening his tie, pulling it off from around his neck. He looked weary but unruffled, his charcoal gray suit impeccable, his handsome features as boyishly appealing as ever. There was nothing to suggest this night wasn’t the same as every other night. “Where’s Brian?”

“In his room, studying.”

“Is there any cold soda in the fridge?”

“I don’t know. You can check.”

“How about you? You check, okay? I’m bushed.”

“All right.” Rachel went to the kitchen and returned to the living room with an open can of cola. David took it, drank and set the can on a coaster on the coffee table. He unbuttoned his shirt, found the evening newspaper, the Press-Telegram, and sat down in his chair, the nubby, adobe-brown recliner that was adjustable to several positions. Rachel hated that chair. It was an eyesore amid her elegant Queen Anne chairs and velvet sofa. But David didn’t care. He seemed to take a perverse delight in keeping his recliner in a prominent place in the living room. Even now, he tilted back expansively and opened his paper with a self-satisfied flourish.

“I heard the stock market went down again today, more than a hundred points,” he said from behind the paper, his voice sounding as if he weren’t really talking to anyone in particular and didn’t care whether he got a reply.

“Really?” she murmured distractedly.

“Of course, the economists are saying it’s a normal market correction,” he mused. “But one of these days it’s going to plunge again and take us all to the cleaners. Maybe we should be pumping more of my 401K savings into bonds instead of stocks. What do you think?”

When Rachel didn’t reply, he went on, as if talking to himself. “It’s not like things have completely recovered in aerospace. The bottom could fall out again, you know, and where would we be?” He took another drink, then set the can back into the coaster. “They laid off three guys in manufacturing last week, three of them, and I mean they were top guys, right up there. Trouble is, there’s not enough work. We’ve lost out on several big contracts lately. I say management’s to blame. We’ve got clients beating a path to the competition. I tell you, if I were running the show, I’d make some real changes.”

For a moment he became absorbed in an item in the paper. When he spoke again, he picked up the same thread of conversation. “Of course, no one’s asking me what I think. I guess I should just be grateful no one’s taken a hatchet to my job.”

Sitting silently on the sofa, her legs crossed comfortably, listening to David ramble on amiably, Rachel wondered if her mind might be playing tricks on her. This was just like any other night, like every night. David in his chair, having a soda, reading the paper, talking about work and the economy and what was happening to whom. It was all very natural, very right. Only it wasn’t right, not when she forced her mind to remember the afternoon, the crazy, mixed-up afternoon.

Surely she hadn’t seen David today with another woman, some mysterious girl, someone he seemed to know so well, whom she, Rachel, didn’t know at all. Certainly nothing existed except tonight, this moment, everything orderly, quiet and in its place. Should she shatter this peace? Should she force the issue, the issues—David and the girl, the baby, the whole vague, uncertain direction of their lives? Was she really up to all that? She could keep her mouth shut and go to bed. Shut up and sleep and sleep and sleep. But then things would be no different tomorrow.

“David,” she began tentatively. Her face felt strained, her mouth screwed up too tight to speak. “David,” she said again, “how come if things are so bad with the company they have you working overtime so much?”

He set the paper down and gave her a blank look. “What do you mean by that?”

“I just wondered, that’s all.”

“I have a lot to do. They give me work the other guys used to do, the guys they laid off.”

“I see.” Her voice was the size of a pinprick, light, airy.

David gave her a second look, close, scrutinizing. “Is something wrong, Rae?” He called her that sometimes. “Are you all right?”

“Sure. I had a bad day, I guess.” Might as well plunge ahead, might as well. “Something funny happened, David,” she said. “I can’t figure it. I saw you today, David, but you didn’t see me.”

David’s expression stayed the same, his eyes watching her, but something in his face seemed to change, shift. “You did? Where?”

“At the Hamburger House. We—Brian and I—went there for dinner. We took food out. We came home and ate.”

“The Hamburger House?” A light came on in David’s eyes, a dazed brightness, as if his mind were weighing many things at once, so that he could not yet speak. Finally he said, “What were you doing at the Hamburger House?”

Rachel looked at him, surprised. “I just told you; Brian and I—”

“Oh, yes, I know that, but I mean…well, why didn’t you say something if you saw me?”

“You were busy, David. You were with someone.”

As if light had dawned, David broke into an extravagant laugh. “Oh, you mean Kit. You saw me with Kit Kincaid.” He settled back and picked up his paper again, as if by such a gesture he was dismissing a topic too insignificant to pursue. From behind the paper his voice flowed evenly, nonchalant. “Kit is the secretary in our department. Her car wasn’t running so I gave her a ride home. Neither of us had eaten, and it was getting late, so we picked up a sandwich. You should have called us, Rachel. You should have said something.”

She shrugged uncertainly. “You looked so engrossed, so close somehow, I felt like an outsider. I felt—” Rachel was aware of her voice growing quivery all of a sudden. She thought she might cry. Was it relief? What? “I didn’t mean to sound stupid, David, like a suspicious wife or something. It’s just that I had a big dinner planned, and then there you were—”

“I called and said I had to work, baby.”

“I know you did.” She felt suddenly stupid, tongue-tied. “But it seems like you have to work so much lately, and I had this idea about tonight being special.” On impulse, she got up and went over to David, slipping onto the arm of his chair, letting her arm circle his shoulder, resting lightly, carefully. “I guess I couldn’t stand seeing you look so happy with that girl. I mean, you really looked…happy.”

“Rachel, will you stop it! Stop hounding me. I told you what happened. I’m sorry you were upset.”

Rachel eased her body off the chair arm, going down on her knees, sitting like a silly, foolish schoolgirl. She was looking at her husband as if she might be begging, as if she might be screaming for something inside, screaming against the complete silence of her mouth, her lips.

David’s hand, large and manly, came to rest on Rachel’s shoulder, found the back of her neck and rubbed gently, soothingly. “I didn’t mean to shout, Rae. Really, I’m sorry. It’s just that I don’t like you going on like this about Kit.”

“Are you…in love with her?” This a whisper, hardly spoken, this from Rachel who could not believe she had asked it.

The directness of the question took David by surprise. He said unthinkingly, “I don’t know.”

The two of them had been sitting in a calm, orderly room surrounded by handsomely elegant, well-placed furniture, with soft light emanating from quiet lamps and everything proper, in its place, where it belonged. This room, one segment of their condo, was fine, and she and David had been fine until this moment, having a serious but comprehensible discussion.

Now nothing was right at all, and nothing Rachel could do would make it right. In a moment, less than a moment, neither the room nor David nor Rachel made any sense at all.

It was bizarre, this conversation. It was idiotic, the whole thing. What was she doing asking David about being in love with another woman?

“Well, you asked me,” David said defensively, seeing the look on her face. “You asked me, so I figured you knew. You asked if I love her, and I told you the truth. I don’t know. You want me to play it straight with you, don’t you, Rae?”

“I didn’t know anything!” she railed, the very breath snatched from her lungs. “I don’t know why I said that, why I asked if you love her. I d-didn’t know—” She was drowning in a welter of confusion and could only stammer that she really didn’t know anything at all.

He stared at her. “You mean, you really didn’t have any idea about Kit? Then why in the world did you bring it up? Why did you have to push me, Rachel? Why couldn’t you leave things alone?”

Her head spun, the lamplight blinding her. “I don’t know…”

David put a tentative hand on her shoulder, then removed it. “I didn’t want to hurt you, Rachel. I could have lied. I started to! You know I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I know,” she said, not looking at him, not seeing anything, still dazed, groping with a blizzard of conflicting thoughts whirling in her own head.

“Hang it all anyway,” David said, his brows knitting over dark flashing eyes. “This whole world is going down the drain, you know that? I’m going down the drain, and the whole world, too. What’s the use of anything?”

Hearing this new torment in David’s voice, Rachel snapped out of her own preoccupation. Her mind was clearing fast. “David,” she said, “talk to me. We’ve got to talk about this. I have to understand what’s happening.”

“What’s the use? I mean, really, what’s the use of anything?”

“I have to understand this, David.” She felt a sudden urge to reach out and touch him but she held back. Instead, she got up from the floor and went over to the sofa and sat down. It was a lovely sofa, the color of spring roses, but there were crumbs from potato chips on it, and she brushed them off. Certainly, she thought, some of these things that had happened could be undone, brushed aside like crumbs, forgotten. She had to find out where she and David stood. “David,” she said, forcing her voice to remain calm, “tell me what’s going on.”

He had the newspaper again, rolling it up, twisting and turning it, unaware that he was destroying it with his very hands. “I don’t know what to say, Rachel,” he said, his hands busy with the paper. “What can I say? I mean, Kit and I have gotten to be good friends. We didn’t plan anything. We just hit it off, you know. Things sort of clicked…”

“When was this?”

“A couple of months ago, I guess. Late in the summer.”

Rachel forced herself to ask the question that seared her heart. “Are you having an affair, David?”

A flash of surprise and indignation crossed David’s face. “No. No, Rachel. Believe me, it hasn’t gone that far. I wouldn’t. We’re friends. Special friends, I guess. We see each other now and then, for lunch. This was the first time we’ve ever met after work, but I guess you won’t believe that.”

“You’re right, I don’t,” Rachel replied in a flat tone.

Suddenly he slammed the paper down on the table, jarring a crystal dish that sat on its polished surface. “I shouldn’t be telling you this,” he said. “I must be crazy saying anything at all. I must be crazy.”

Rachel’s heart hammered. She felt the pressure of tears behind her eyes. “I need to know, David,” said Rachel. “Everything. It’s only fair…”

Her husband grew quiet, apparently gathering his thoughts. He leaned forward in his chair, his shoulders slumping, round and heavy, his eyes focused somewhere in space. He massaged his knuckles. “You know yourself, Rachel,” he said in a small, tight voice, “things haven’t been good between us for a long time. You know that.”

Tears glazed her eyes. “We’ve had our problems, yes…”

He looked at her, his eyes glinting with fire. “Problems? Problems? You bet we’ve had problems. I’m not excusing myself, believe me, I’m not, but…I guess it seemed like an escape to be interested in someone else for a while. It was harmless, Rachel, really.”

“But you said—” Her tongue felt thick, pasty, her voice a whisper. “You said you don’t know if you love this girl, this Kit. You said you don’t know.”

He shook his head. “I—I don’t know.”

Rachel inhaled sharply. She couldn’t hear her own voice over her thundering heart. “But you might…you might love her?”

David stared hard at his hands. “I just don’t know,” he said.




Chapter Five (#ulink_008dbf65-1282-5f56-abae-b80be24f1ad4)


“Hey, Dad, when did you get home?”

It was Brian, bounding into the living room full of a boy’s endless energy, grinning broadly at his dad, his enthusiasm noisy. Lately, it seemed Brian was often this way around his dad, almost joyous, sharing something private, something Rachel couldn’t quite touch. But why did he have to come in now?

Dear God, why now?

“Hey, man! How’s it going?” David responded brightly, obviously glad to be off the hook with Rachel for a moment. “I got home a while ago. How about you? What’s the word?”

“Nothing, Dad. Hitting the books is all. Doing some research on the Internet. History report. No big deal.”

“School’s always a big deal.”

“Sure, if you say so.”

David chuckled. “You’ll change your tune one of these days.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. But, hey, how about you? Mom tell you the news?”

Rachel saw David flinch slightly. His smile froze on his lips. “What do you mean, Brian? Tell me what?”

The words burst from Brian’s lips. “About the baby. You told him, Mom, didn’t you?”

Rachel scarcely breathed. “No, Brian.” She was losing the modicum of control she had over this situation. She didn’t want it to be like this. Everything was collapsing around her. “I haven’t had a chance, Brian. I was going to—”

David pulled himself out of his recliner and stood in the middle of the room as if he were not sure what he should do next. “What is this?” he said. “Rachel, tell me what’s going on.”

She glared at her son. “Brian, go to your room and let me talk to Daddy, would you please?”

“Okay, Mom.” He looked at both of them apologetically. “I’m sorry if I spoiled the surprise. I mean, I figured you already told him.”

As Brian left the room, Rachel steeled herself. It was her trump card, this baby, but she didn’t want to play it now. She didn’t want to hold on to David this way, if there was anything left of their marriage to hold together.

David stood across from her, his body steeled, too, and minced no words. “Rachel, are you pregnant?”

“Yes.”

“In the name of heaven, why didn’t you tell me? What kind of game are you playing?”

“You’re a good one to talk about playing games,” she countered, wishing immediately she hadn’t retaliated.

“Oh, we’re back to that, are we?” David made a helpless gesture with his hands and sat down. “Rachel,” he said solemnly, “what do you want me to do?”

Rachel stared down at her hands. “I don’t know, David. You tell me. What do you want to do?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know what to do, what to think. I suppose we have to go on from here, from this moment. We’ve got to pull things together, you and I. Especially now.”

She spoke with a bitter irony. “You mean, for the baby?”

“Yes, I mean for the baby. For Brian, too. For all of us.”

It was not in Rachel now to respond coolly, to debate and discuss their lives with objectivity. She resented David’s attempt to settle their lives by logic. Didn’t he understand, couldn’t he see, that she was coming apart inside? He wanted to talk about tangible things, about plans, about doing this or that. Rachel was concerned with only one intangible, terribly important fact: David evidently no longer loved her, and he might love—actually might love—somebody else.

“Are you listening to me, Rachel? Didn’t you hear anything I said?”

“Yes, David, I heard you, but it’s too late!” Didn’t everything inside tell her it was too late? All the terrible particles of herself coming apart—the torn bits and pieces of her logical mind, whatever that was, if she’d ever possessed such a thing. Everything inside her was ready to revolt, and she thought she might vomit. She stood as if to head for the bathroom.

“Are you all right?” David asked. “Are you sick, Rachel?”

“I don’t know—no, I’m all right. I’m a little dizzy, that’s all.”

“You should go to bed. Rae, let me help you.” David made a gesture toward her, which she rejected as quickly as it was made. He withdrew, letting her pass by him.

“I’m all right,” she said, waving her hand, dismissing him. “I have to be alone, David. I’ve got to think. I just can’t think tonight.”

He shook his head, his voice heavy with regret. “I’m sorry, Rachel. I really am. I’m sorry for this whole mess.”

She turned and stared at him. The urge to cry was on her again, washing over her like warm water, like wonderfully warm rivers that might drown her. But she held back the tears, the desire to let herself weep in David’s arms. Instead, she asked, “What about her—this girl?”

“I don’t know. I’ll have to break it off,” David answered.

“But your feelings. You said you don’t know how you feel.”

“I’ll work it out, Rachel. It’ll be okay.”

She didn’t want to hear this. It wasn’t the answer she needed. “Don’t bother, David,” Rachel said, her voice suddenly high and strangled. “Don’t bother with charity. I don’t want any of it. I just want you out of here. Get out of here—please!” She held the sobs inside herself, the pressure building like a stone in her throat.

David’s mouth tightened as a dazed, incredulous expression settled in his eyes. He was obviously shaken. Could he go so easily, without a fight? For a moment she thought he would argue with her, refuse to leave, even plead with her to let him stay. But she knew he was too proud and hated to appear weak, no matter what. “All right, Rachel,” he said, already moving heavily, dispiritedly toward their room. “I’ll pack a bag and get out. I’ll go, if that’s what you want.”

“Yes,” she said, turning away, going to the window, hugging herself protectively. She was trembling like a rosebud in a tempest.

It was raining finally. The rain poured down and hit the window outrageously, like torrents of tears, like the sudden furious tears in her own eyes.




Chapter Six (#ulink_12fb6ae5-f834-53e5-b851-e69bb4affce0)


Three days after David had gone striding out of their apartment, suitcase in hand and jaw set, Rachel broke out of her self-imposed mourning. It was a balmy, sun-washed day, and she needed to get out.

Not that she could escape the scorching recriminations, the self-pity, blaming herself one moment for her impulsiveness, resenting David the next for actually walking out at her insistence. As if that’s what she wanted, his going. Was it? Who knew? All she knew at the moment, on this breezy, clear day in early November, was that she had to get out of herself, out of the house, away. So she and Marlene drove to Laguna Beach to spend the day.

Laguna was one of their favorite places. Somehow the endless clusters of quaint, colorful buildings perched on the hillsides and the little network of streets had managed to escape that steely, glazed look that had become the characteristic of so much of Southern California. Rachel was tired of the endless stark, cold ribbons of freeway twisting and turning, jutting in and out, stripping the landscape of any natural grace.

Laguna Beach was different. The buildings were clever and original. They looked as if they had a history to them, as if many people had given parts of their personalities to these structures. The colorful little shops were crowded with artists’ paintings—lovely seascapes, beautiful landscapes, portraits and still lifes.

Many artists came here hoping to sell their work, the trained and untrained alike. Rachel adored their paintings, the meticulous portraits of old men from the sea, children in soft, airy dresses, and the tiny, finely crafted canvases of fruit—a single apple or a pear, stark against an ebony background.

Throughout the afternoon, Rachel knew Marlene was bursting with unasked questions. Marlene said nothing but cast frequent sidelong glances at Rachel, no doubt to determine the state of her emotions. Marlene was too kind to bombard her with probing queries about David’s sudden move out of their condo. On the phone the morning after David left, Rachel had spilled out the story in brief choked snatches, leaving it to Marlene to fill in the blanks.

“He’s gone and that’s all there is to it, Marlene,” Rachel had told her friend that morning. “And I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I just can’t.”

So that was it. Rachel had said no more.

But now Rachel felt better. Relaxed by the pleasant day at Laguna and with her emotions lulled by gentle sea breezes, she felt capable of discussing with some degree of objectivity her present circumstances. She told Marlene everything that came to her mind as they drove home that evening, finishing with “Yesterday I called a lawyer over in north Long Beach. I had a long talk with him and he suggested I come in for an appointment.”

“You’re not really going, are you?”

“I’m thinking about it.”

“Does that mean you’re thinking about getting a divorce?”

Rachel struggled to keep her tone neutral. “I have to consider it. I just didn’t realize how things are these days, with the divorce laws and all. The lawyer told me that under California law it’s not a divorce anymore. It’s a dissolution. All you have to say is that you have irreconcilable differences, and that’s it, you can have your divorce. It’s just about that easy. You merely have to wait six months, for what he called the interlocutory period, then the whole thing is done with.” Rachel’s voice wavered with ill-disguised emotion. “What do you think of that?”

“It sounds ghastly to me,” said Marlene, feigning a shudder. She was driving, and they were on the freeway now, in the fast lane, going sixty-five. Marlene liked to drive and could handle a car as well as anyone. She could drive anywhere, for hours at a time, and not get tired or nervous. When she and Rachel went anywhere, Rachel always let her drive.

“The whole thing sounds awful to me, too,” Rachel admitted with a flat little smile, actually more grimace than smile. She recalled the lawyer’s voice, smooth and silky, unconcerned. “While I was talking to the lawyer I thought I must be out of my mind. Here I was talking about David and myself with some stranger like it was nothing at all.

“Anyhow, he said with the laws like they are these days, there’s less recrimination and guilt. He kept using those words, recrimination and guilt There’s no blaming anyone, he said. He claims that makes it all a lot easier.”

Rachel paused and sighed audibly. The sigh seemed to go all the way through her, somehow snatching her strength, leaving her tired. “There’s nothing easy about tearing up a whole part of your life and throwing it away,” she said. “He made it sound as easy as wrapping up the garbage and taking it out”

“I just hope you don’t go and do anything on impulse, Rachel,” warned Marlene. “Divorce, that should be a last resort.”

“Well, the lawyer said you have to pay at least half the fee as soon as you start divorce proceedings. I guess a lot of people get halfway through and change their minds, so the lawyer would be out a lot, I suppose, if he didn’t have you pay at the start. Anyway, I don’t want to do anything until I’m absolutely sure.”

Marlene’s voice took on a cautionary note. “I was just wondering—have you prayed about all this, Rachel?”

Rachel mindlessly twisted her purse strap around her index finger. “Everything’s happened so fast I haven’t had much chance to pray,” she admitted lamely. She didn’t want to confess that at the moment the thought of praying left her with a terrified, strangled sensation. “I won’t do anything without praying about it first,” she assured Marlene, her voice rising a degree, “so don’t worry about that.” But how could she convince Marlene when she couldn’t even convince herself?

Marlene looked over at her, her round face clouding. “It’s just that…well, I have this feeling about you, Rachel.”

“What? What feeling?”

“I don’t know. You’re putting me on the spot—I can’t explain it”

They were on the off-ramp now, heading for home. The traffic was starting to thicken. It was after four in the afternoon. Rachel heard a car horn honking, but it was back on the freeway somewhere. At the end of the off-ramp they had to wait for a signal, one of those endless, ubiquitous lights. Rachel switched on the radio and pushed the tuning button, catching snatches of music, most of it rock or country. One station was playing “You Light Up My Life.” The young singer belted out the refrains with a haunting, heart-tugging pathos that stirred Rachel’s own pain, but she left it on anyway.

“Almost home,” said Marlene, a surface brightness to her voice. Then, softly, “How’s Brian taking all of this?”

The inquiry hit a vulnerable spot. Rachel winced in spite of herself. “Brian’s terribly upset,” she answered, turning down the radio. “He doesn’t say much, but I know he doesn’t understand what’s happening. He never used to be close to his dad, really, but lately they were hitting it off well together. I have this feeling, Marlene, that Brian resents me now—maybe David and me both. I don’t know.”

“It’s bound to be hard on him, Rachel.”

“Well, what about me?” Rachel countered. It was as if a great torrent of outrage had suddenly burst upon her, spilling its juices over all the sane and proper emotions she thought were expected of her.

“What about me, anyway?” she repeated, her voice shrill. “I have prayed for years, Marlene, you know that. For years I’ve prayed that David would come to Christ and that we’d finally have some unity in our family. For years I’ve gone to church alone and tried to bring up Brian in the church, in spite of his father’s influence. Do you think David has ever for one moment bent my way? I kept on and took it all—the loneliness and the lack of communication—because I thought someday David would share my faith and things would be different. But now, now he’s seeing some girl, some ditsy secretary from work. Maybe he’s in love with her, I don’t know. So what’s left, Marlene? What’s left of anything?”

“You said David wants to try again.”

“Oh, I know,” said Rachel, raking her fingers through her long, silken hair. She felt the futility tighten her lips. Anger was making her face feel unnatural, her very features distorted. She could only imagine what the bitterness was doing to her heart. “I know David said we could try again, but I can’t see what good it would do. What’s going to make things any better as long as he has feelings for that girl?”

“Doesn’t it say in the Bible that if a woman has an unbelieving husband and he wishes to stay with her, she shouldn’t make him go?” asked Marlene evenly. “Doesn’t it say she should stay with him, Rachel?”

“I never read that.” Rachel replied, frowning. “I never saw that passage anywhere as far as I can remember.” She snapped off the radio with a decisive flick of the wrist, suddenly having no desire at all to hear the final verse of “You Light Up My Life.”




Chapter Seven (#ulink_d661c34c-5ba1-54c3-899e-bfdf57f762de)


“That’s about it,” David said with a note of finality. “That’s how things stand between Rachel and me right now. Not too pretty, huh? I guess I’ve made a real mess of things.”

Kit sat beside him in his sleek sports car, her fingers playing with the strap of her black leather purse. She was wearing a lime green crocheted sweater and stylish denim jeans. He watched her and felt the knot of guilt and frustration in his gut relax a bit. No matter how awful he felt, Kit had a way of picking up his spirits. She had a smooth, polished attractiveness, a certain subtle aura of worldliness about her, although she was only twenty-five. Kit was smaller and blonder than Rachel and wore more makeup—always a glossy, magazine sort of look to her face—but if David thought about it at all, he realized that Kit was probably no prettier than Rachel, who somehow managed to appear both natural and elegant without all the makeup.

David looked more closely at Kit Her expression was clouded. He couldn’t read it. What was she thinking now that she knew the whole story?

“I’m sorry, David,” she said at last. “I’m really sorry.”

He had driven her up to Signal Hill to talk. It was one of the few places in Long Beach where there was still a semblance of privacy. The hill was a jutting protuberance of land laced with narrow, weaving roads, its landscape blemished by oil pumps and drilling rigs. The hill was considered by some to be a lovers’ lane, and no doubt police cars patrolled the area periodically to encourage reluctant drivers on the road again.

David wasn’t bothered by the hill’s reputation, because here he could look out and see the dazzling lights of the Los Angeles basin spread out before him. For David, there was no real darkness in this place where all cities joined together to create one huge metropolis. In this place, this city of cities, there were only sweeping galaxies of lights, like an ocean of stars.

“I didn’t tell you all of this for you to be sorry, Kit,” he said, swinging his thoughts back to their conversation. “Listen, Kit,” he said gently, “I’m not trying to cry on your shoulder. I just want to be straight with you. Let you know how things are with me.”

“I understand, David, really I do.”

He chuckled. “Really? Then you’re doing better than I am.”

Kit’s voice was soft, tentative. “David, just one thing. I wonder…”

“Yeah?”

“Well, Rachel and the baby and all this—how does it…how is it going to affect us?”

“What do you mean?”

“I guess I mean, where do we go from here?”

“I honestly don’t know,” he said, shaking his head. “I never thought Rachel would give me my walking papers, just like that,” he admitted, aware of the pained tone his voice could not hide. “Then again, I never thought I’d blurt out my feelings for you like I did. I just don’t know what’s going to happen now.”

“We never planned for this to happen between us, David. It just did.”

David stared out the window, the tendon along his jaw tightening. “I know, Kit. But the truth is, I really don’t know what I should do. When I think about throwing my marriage away, I feel sick inside. I care about Rachel. Even when we lost that close feeling we once had, I never stopped caring. But it looks like Rachel’s taken any decision about our marriage out of my hands. Now that she knows I have feelings for you, even though its only been really a friendship so far, she doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

“Then maybe you just have to accept that, David.”

He looked back at Kit, his brow furrowed. “No matter what, I can’t just walk away from her, Kit. Especially now, with a baby coming. I just can’t get the idea of the baby out of my mind.”

“You sound almost…happy about the baby.”

“Happy? I suppose I am. I was shocked at first. Rachel and I never considered having another child. I’ve been so busy with work, and she’s always leading a drama group at her church or taking classes for some degree she hopes to get someday. But it’s my baby, as much a part of me as it is of her. It’s just like when Brian was coming; I love the little tyke already, sight unseen. I don’t want to be a part-time father to my child. Nor to Brian. He’s a teenager. He needs me now, too.”





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