"The same thing. But I thought it was from the change in coming out here. Or worry, or whatever." It was a very lame excuse.
"But you have not actually missed a period?"
"No." I wanted to add "sir," but restrained myself. He had me feeling very humble though. And scared.
"Any change in your b.r.e.a.s.t.s? Fullness?" I hadn"t noticed and told him so. "Well, let"s take a look." He flashed the dazzling smile at me again, and I started to pray, but it was a little late for that. The entire exercise of coming to see him had been like checking the list of who pa.s.sed and flunked an exam, when you knew you hadn"t studied anyway. But you always hope. At least I do.
So Dr. Haas took a look. And he saw. I was two months pregnant. Maybe two and a half. Sonofab.i.t.c.h.
"Congratulations, Mrs. Forrester. I think the baby is due in March." Congratulations? "We"ll do the A-Z test just to be formal about it, but there"s really no doubt about it. You"re pregnant." He smiled.
"But I"m not . . . that is . . . uh . . . thank you, Doctor." I had told him about my tonsillectomy, but I had forgotten to tell him I wasn"t married anymore. Congratulations, my a.s.s.
He told me to make another appointment in a month and I rode down in the elevator, like a stone going down a mine shaft. At least that"s how I felt. And what would I tell Chris? He was going to pick me up downstairs, and I saw by my watch that he had already been waiting ten minutes. Maybe he wouldn"t be there. My spirits lifted at the thought. . . maybe he had forgotten . . . maybe . . . I decided to wait and tell him when we got back to Bolinas, when we"d be sitting under the tree next to the house and things would be peaceful.
As I stepped outside I saw him waiting for me and my heart sank again. I wanted to cry.
I opened the door and slid in next to him and tried to smile. "Hi."
"How was the doctor?"
"I"m pregnant."
"You"re what?" The entire exchange was like something out of a Laurel and Hardy movie as we dodged through the downtown traffic. It was not at all what I had planned, but it had just slipped out. I guess I wanted it to. "Wait a minute, Gill. What do you mean, you"re pregnant? You use a thing."
"Yeah, okay, so I use a thing. But I"m pregnant anyway. Congratulations!"
"Are you out of your mind?"
"No. That"s what the doctor told me."
"Did you tell him you weren"t married?" Chris was looking pale.
"No. I forgot."
"Oh for chrissake." I giggled hysterically and looked up at him and then regretted my mirth. He looked like he was going to explode. "How pregnant are you?"
"Two or two and a half months. Look, Chris . . . I"m sorry . . . I didn"t do it on purpose, and I"m wearing it for chrissake."
"Okay, I know. But this comes as a h.e.l.l of a shock to me. Didn"t you know when you didn"t get your period? And why the h.e.l.l didn"t you tell me?"
"I did get my period . . . sort of. . .
"Sort of? I can"t believe this thing."
"Where the h.e.l.l are you driving me to, by the way?" We had been roaming aimlessly on Market Street for a quarter of an hour.
"What do I know?" He glared in the rearview mirror and then back at me. And then his face lit up. "Come to think of it, I do know. We"re going to San Jose."
"San Jose? What for?" Maybe he was going to murder me and dump my body somewhere on the peninsula.
"Because there"s a dynamite Planned Parenthood in San Jose and they set up abortions. I have a friend there."
"Bully for you." The drive to San Jose was accomplished in total silence. We stole occasional glances at each other, but neither of us spoke. I guess he didn"t want to, and I was afraid to. I felt as though I had committed the most heinous crime of all time.
In San Jose, Chris"s friend was very nice, took down all the information, and said he"d call us, and I walked out to the car feeling lonely and nauseous. The drive out had taken an hour and a half, and it would take us longer to get back in rush-hour traffic, and we still had the drive back to Bolinas to contend with. I was exhausted thinking about it, and I didn"t want to think of the abortion. Anything but that.
Chris tried to make lighthearted conversation on the way back to San Francisco, but I couldn"t stand hearing it. I could tell he was feeling better. The fact that he"d done something to set up getting rid of it gave him a sense of relief. And me a feeling of desperation.
"Chris, pull over." We were just outside South San Francisco when I said it, but I didn"t give a d.a.m.n, I couldn"t wait.
"Here? Are you sick?"
"Yes. I mean no, not like that. Look, just pull over." He did, with a worried look, and I faced him as we sat in the car. "Chris, I"m going to have the baby."
"Now?" The word was a squeak, and he looked like his already frayed nerves were going to give out.
"No, not now. In March. I don"t want the abortion."
"You what?"
"You heard me. I"ll have the baby. I"m not asking you to marry me, but don"t ask me to give it up. I won"t." "
"Why? For chrissake, Gill, why? It"ll totally f.u.c.k us up, not to mention what it"ll do to your life. You"ve already got a kid; what do you want two for?"
"Because I love you, and I want to have our child. And deep in my heart, I don"t believe in doing that if you don"t have to. When two people love each other enough to live the way we"ve been living, then it"s a crime not to have the child that results from it. I can"t help it, Chris, I have to." My eyes were br.i.m.m.i.n.g with tears as I looked at him.
"Are you serious?"
"Yes."
"Jesus. Well, you"ve got to do it the best way for you. We"ll talk about it. But you"re taking on a h.e.l.l of a lot to handle, Gill."
"I know that. But it would do worse things to my mind if I got rid of it. I"m going to have it, whether you stand by me or not." The last words had been sheer bravado, but he didn"t respond.
"Okay, little lady. The decision"s yours." He slammed the car back into drive and sped off toward the city without another word.
10.
We drove back to Bolinas that night, without stopping to see his house on Sacramento Street, without dinner, and without wasting many words. But I was too tired to care. It had been a heavy day and I collapsed into bed and pa.s.sed out.
I rolled over in bed the next morning and saw Chris staring at the ceiling with an unhappy expression on his face which matched the way I felt.
"Chris . . . I"m really sorry." . . . But in a way, I wasn"t. I was too chicken to tell him that though.
"Don"t be. And maybe you"re right for you. To have the baby, I mean."
"What about for you?" I had to know. And he rolled over on his side and propped himself on one elbow, looking at me, before he spoke.
"No, Gill. Not for me. But you said yesterday that that doesn"t matter. Do you still feel that way?"
"Yes." But my voice had shrunk to the barest whisper. He was leaving me. "We split?"
"No. You go back to New York." Which meant the same thing. My heart sank and I wanted to scream, or cry, or die. And I didn"t want to go back to New York.
"I won"t go back, Chris. You can leave me, but I won"t go back."
"You have to go, Gill. If you love me at all. You"re doing one thing you want to do. So you owe it to me to do one thing I want." He made it sound so reasonable, but it wasn"t. Not to me at least.
"What does my going back to New York have to do with anything? And then what? I never see you again?" . . . Oh Jesus. . . .
"No. I"ll come visit. I still love you, Gill. But I just couldn"t handle the pressure of your being here. You"ll be pregnant, and everyone"ll know about it. h.e.l.l, Gill, we work in the same business, and don"t you think everyone will know? Joe Tramino will see to it. And there would be others." He sounded bitter and sad.
"But who gives a d.a.m.n? So, okay, we"re having a baby. Lots of people do. And we love each other. So what"s the big deal? Are you suddenly so establishment that you feel we have to be married? That"s pure, total, one hundred percent c.r.a.p. And you know it."
"No, I don"t know it. Besides, it"ll make me feel guilty. You see what happens, I come, I go, I disappear sometimes. I won"t always do that, but right now I need to. Or at least I need to know I can. And if you"re sitting around with a long face and a big stomach, I"ll go crazy."
"So I won"t wear a long face."
"Yes, you will. And I wouldn"t blame you. I think you"re nuts. In your shoes, I"d get rid of it. Today."
"Well, we"re different, that"s all."
"You said it. Look, I told you in the beginning, responsibility blows my mind. What do you think this is? It"s like a giant commitment."
"What the h.e.l.l do you want me to say, Chris?"
"I don"t want you to say anything. I want one thing. For you to go home. And you"re going to, if I have to carry you there. You"ve already given notice on your apartment, so you"re free and clear. All you have to do is call Bekins, pack up your stuff, and get your a.s.s on a plane. And that"s just what you"re going to do, if I have to gag you and tie you up. And if you"re planning to argue with me, don"t bother. You haven"t got a chance. You"ve got two weeks. You can stretch it a couple of days, and stay at my place while you do, but that"s it. Go back to New York and we"ve got a chance, but if you stay in San Francisco we"re through. I"ll never forgive you for it. I"d always think you"d stayed to get at me. So do me a favor . . . go."
He left the room as I rolled into my pillow, choked with sobs, and in a few moments I heard him drive away.
He came back that night, but he had made up his mind. I was leaving. And by the end of the week, I knew I was. There was no other way. He had finally made me see that. And his forced cheerfulness during the days before I left was crueler than anything else he could have done to me. He was kinder and more loving than I had ever seen him. And I was more in love with him than ever before. He did some brutal things to my heart in those last weeks, but somehow I loved him anyway. He was Chris. And he was made that way, and you could never blame him for anything. In the end, I felt as though I had first done him wrong making the decision I had, and by getting pregnant in the first place. But I had no choice. Morally, I had to have the child.
He helped me tell Sam we were leaving when her father brought her back, and he packed all my things. He wasn"t taking any chances. Chris Matthews may have loved me then, but he made one other thing a great deal clearer. He wanted me to go. And I was going.
After what seemed like a thousand days, we got to that all-time horror, the last day. The last this, and the last that. I couldn"t stand it anymore, and the last night was the worst of all.
"Goodnight, Chris."
". . . "night." And then, "Gill, do you understand at all? I . . . I hate doing this to you, but I can"t . . . I just can"t. I think maybe I want you to have the baby too, but I don"t know. Maybe I"ll get it all together. Soon, I mean . . . I feel like such a sonofab.i.t.c.h."
"You"re not. I know, everything got kind of screwed up."
"Yeah. It did. And I"m sorry you got pregnant. G.o.d, I wish. . . ."
"Don"t, Chris. I"m not sorry. I"m kind of glad, even if . . ."
"Why do you want to have it, Gill?"
"I told you. I want to have you near me always. It"s sort of a corny thing to say but I . . . I just want to. That"s all. I have to." We lay there in the dark, holding hands, and I kept thinking, "This is the last time. The last night. The last time I"ll lie here in his bed. Ever. The last . . ." I knew he"d never come to New York, he hated the place, and he had no real interest in seeing his child.
"Gill? Are you crying?"
"N-no." But I choked as I said it.
"Don"t cry, oh please don"t cry. Gill, I love you. Please." We lay in each other"s arms, crying. The last time. The last . . . "Gill, I"m so sorry."
"It"s okay, Chris. Everything"s going to be okay." He fell asleep in my arms after a while, the boy I loved, the man who loved me and was sorry, hurt me and failed me, and filled me at other times with a kind of joy I"d never known before. Christopher. The giant child. The beautiful man with the soul of a boy. The man who had ridden bareback on the beach with me the day we met. How could I burden him with the weight of my existence? I know I should have. But I didn"t quite dare.
I lay awake until the room started to grow light and then curled into his back and fell asleep, too tired to cry anymore. The last night was over. The end had begun.
11.
Look, dammit! Don"t look at me like that. It"ll do you good to get back to New York. You have lots of friends there and I"ll come East in the next couple of months. You"ll . . . G.o.ddamit, Gill, I"m not going to explain this thing to you again, and I"m not going to stand around here like this, if you"re going to wear your crucifixion look." We were standing in the airport, and he was looking crucified himself, guilt was nibbling at him. My fault again?
"Okay, okay, I"m sorry. I can"t help it, it"s . . ." Oh s.h.i.t. What"s the use? "Did I give you back the key to the house in Bolinas?"
"Yes. Do you have your ski boots? I saw them out in the garden yesterday, and they look pretty shot to me. You shouldn"t leave them out there." Good boy, Chris, keep it to the practical.
"I didn"t . . . Sam . . . yes. I have them." I looked up and he was giving me one of his encouraging smiles-"there, there, that"s better, now you"re doing it." We were playing a little game. Nice Uncle Chris sees Auntie Gillian off at the airport, and Auntie Gillian does not have hysterics. There we are. Smile for the birdie. I wondered who we were putting on the show for, the people at the airport, each other, or ourselves. We were acting out all the bad endings I"d ever read about in books; we were really blowing it, no longer reaching each other, just filling the minutes before Sam and I would get on the plane. But filling them with ugly things to remember.
Chris"s gentle voice and empty words, punctuated by his little smiles, shrieked at me. "Don"t make me feel guilty," they said, and my martyred face shouted back, "I hate you!
"I put your rain slicker in the back of the car."
"Good."
"Where"s Sam?" The general panic of the morning touched everything within me.
"Relax. She"s over there, playing with that kid. Don"t be so nervous, Gill. Everything"s going to be fine."
"Sure." I nodded, looking at my feet, trying not to say something nasty. "I"ll call you when we get in tonight."