“Tell me what?” Harry said, but she just kept moaning, “My God, my God,” and swaying back and forth with her hands covering her face.
He waited, watching her quietly, noticing for the first time the slight thickening of her abdomen, and thinking, this is it. She doesn’t have to tell me. I know.
The things Ralph had said and Esther had suspected and Dorothy had subtly implied — they all added up to the little bulge at Thelma’s waistline.
“There’s a child,” he said finally. “Ron’s?”
“Yes.”
“How — how far along are you?”
“Three and a half months.”
“And Ron knows?”
“I told him. Last night.”
He leaned heavily against the door frame, staring down at the roses of Marian’s rug. They had pink, fretful faces like babies. “What does Ron intend to do about it?”
“The right thing, of course.”
“After having done quite a number of wrong things, do you think it’s going to be easy for him to do the right one?”
“There’s no use getting sarcastic. It won’t accomplish anything. I’ve thought the whole thing out. It’s not going to be easy, but Ron and I, each of us will have to get a divorce and then we’ll be married.”
“By that time your child will be born a bastard.”
The name staggered her like a blow and she might have fallen except that there wasn’t room to fall. She was jammed between the wall and the mohair sofa.
“Thelma!”
He started across the room to help her but she waved him away. “No. I’m — all right.”
“Let me...”
“No.” She clung to the back of the sofa for a moment and then she straightened up, looking strangely dignified. “Don’t use that word. Don’t use that word about my son.”
And Harry, watching her, thought, she’s got it all planned, two divorces, a marriage, even the child’s sex. “A lot of words are going to be used which you won’t like, Thelma. You’d better start thinking of them now so you won’t be surprised when they come up.”
“I don’t care what anyone says about me.”
“Yes, you do. Try and face reality.”
“I am. This is reality.” She pressed her hand to her abdomen. “This child, this is my reality. I’ve wanted a baby ever since I can remember, and now I have one right here growing inside me.”
“Reality isn’t a single fact like that. It’s a combination of thousands, millions...”
“You denied me a baby, Harry. You made excuses, you said I was too old to have a first child now, you were afraid something would happen to me and you’d lose me. Well, you have lost me.”
He shook his head helplessly, unable to speak.
“It’s your fault, Harry. That’s why I’m not even apologizing to you, because I think it’s your fault, not mine. I wanted this one thing more than anything in the world, and I could see the years slipping by and I was getting older, with nothing to show for it. I felt dead inside, dead and useless. Don’t talk to me about reality, Harry. No matter what happens, I’m not sorry. I won’t be sorry. I have my son to keep me alive.”
It sounded almost like a speech she had prepared and practiced in front of a mirror, day after day, so that she would be ready for this moment.
“You had the whole thing planned,” Harry said, “in advance?”
“That’s not true.”
“To put it coarsely, you hooked him.”
She looked at him with a kind of contempt. “Believe whatever you want. It’s too late to change anything.”
“But why? Why Ron? Why my best friend with a wife and family of his own? For God’s sake, couldn’t you have stopped to think? Couldn’t you at least have talked it over with me, told me how you felt?”
“I tried. You never listened. You only heard what you wanted to hear. To you everything was idyllic, you had a house and a wife to look after it, your meals were on time, your clothes laundered...”
“I was satisfied just having you,” Harry said. “I didn’t require anything or anyone else because I loved you. I still do. Oh God, Thelma, couldn’t we forget this nightmare and go back?”
“I don’t want to go back. Even if I could. I may be in trouble but at least I feel alive, I’ve got a future and a child to share it with. And Ron.” Her voice shook a little over the name in noticeable contrast to the confident way she spoke of the child. “Ron, too, of course.”
“Of course.”
“Oh, I know what you’re thinking about — that silly notion I had that he was dead. It’s not true. Mrs. Malverson got me all upset with her talk about spiritual messages. What nonsense. I know he’s not dead. I know where he is.”
“Where?”
“Oh, not specifically. I just know he’s hiding somewhere for a while because he’s frightened. Of Esther, probably. Of course she’ll be impossible about the whole thing but he’ll simply have to face up to her. She’ll make trouble, I expect that, she’s the type.”
“Name a type who wouldn’t, under the circumstances.”
“Esther’s special, she’s so determined. Well, I’m determined too. Let her make trouble. Ron and I won’t be living here anyway. When everything is over we’ll move to the States, California perhaps. I’ve never been there, but they say that children brought up in California are bigger and healthier than any other children in the world.
The change in her tone indicated that she was off on another dream, an express train whizzing across the border and through the states toward California. Nothing stood in the way of this train. If it did, it was demolished. Harry knew this from experience. He had stood on the tracks once too often.
“... and because they play outdoors all the time even in winter. They eat outdoors, too. Everyone cooks over a barbecue pit or they go down to the beach and build a bonfire.”
Harry stepped in front of the train with the fearlessness of one who had nothing to lose. “Stop. Stop it, Thelma.”
“Why should I?”
“Don’t start living a year from now when you have to get through tonight, tomorrow, next week.”
“I’ll get through. Don’t worry about me. Harry. Get angry, call me names, anything, but don’t worry about me.”
“I can’t afford to get angry. I might — hurt you.”
From the kitchen came a sudden sharp crash like a plate breaking.
“Marian,” Thelma said. “Dear heaven, I forgot about Marian.”
As if she’d been waiting for her cue, Marian thrust herself through the swinging door, head down, like a charging ram.
She didn’t look at Harry or give any indication of his presence. She shouted at Thelma, “You slut. You nasty little slut. Pack up your things and get out of here.”
Thelma appeared pale but composed, as if her dream of California had blunted the sharp corners of the present. “Do you always eavesdrop on your guests, Marian?”
“Eavesdropping is one thing, cuckolding is another. And I want none of your insolence, do you hear me?”
“I hear you. You sound just like Aunt May.”
“You leave her name out of it. We’re a respectable family and you’ve disgraced us all. I want no part of you. You can go on the streets for all I care.”
“I might do that. And if business gets too heavy I’ll send some customers on to you. The experience might improve you.”
“Why, you dirty — you cheap...”
“Shut up!” Harry ordered. “Shut up, both of you! Thelma, go and pack your stuff. You, Marian, sit down.”
Thelma disappeared hastily into the bedroom, but Marian stood pat, her hands on her enormous hips. “I don’t take orders from any man. I will not sit down.”