“You always wanted to have children,” she said plaintively.
Stopping in the middle of the threadbare carpet, Adam looked at his wife. “Whether I want to have children is also not the issue. Of course I want children, but not now. I mean, how are we going to live? You’ll have to stop dancing immediately, right?”
“Soon,” admitted Jennifer.
“Well, there you have it! What are we going to do for money? It’s not as if I can get a newspaper route after school. Oh God, what a mess. I don’t believe it.”
“There’s always my family,” said Jennifer, fighting back tears.
Adam looked up. His lips had narrowed.
Jennifer saw his expression and quickly added, “I know how you have felt about accepting support from my family, but if we have a child it will be different. I know they would adore helping us.”
“Oh, sure!” said Adam sarcastically.
“Really,” said Jennifer. “I went home this afternoon and spoke to them. My father said that we are welcome to come and live in their house in Englewood. Goodness knows, it’s big enough. Then as soon as I can get back to dancing or you start your residency, we can move out.”
Adam closed his eyes and hit the top of his head with a closed fist. “I don’t believe this is happening.”
“My mother will enjoy having us,” added Jennifer. “Because of the baby she lost, she’s particularly concerned about me.”
“There’s no connection,” snapped Adam. “She had a Down’s baby because she was well into her thirties.”
“She knows. It’s just the way she feels. Oh, Adam! It wouldn’t be so bad. We’ll have plenty of space, and you could use the attic room as a study.”
“No!” shouted Adam. “Thank you very much but we are not accepting charity from your parents. They already interfere in our life too much. Everything in this goddam dump is from your parents,” he said, gesturing around the room.
In the midst of her anxiety Jennifer felt anger stirring. At times Adam could be so frustratingly obstinate, and certainly less than grateful. Right from the beginning of their relationship his rejection of her parents’ generosity had been out of proportion. She’d gone along with it to a point, recognizing his special sensitivities, but now that she was pregnant it seemed unreasonably self-centered.
“My parents have not been interfering. I think it is time for you to control your pride or whatever it is that gets you so angry anytime my parents try to help us. The fact of the matter is we need help.”
“You can call it what you will. I call it interfering. And I don’t want it, today, tomorrow, ever! We’re on our own and we’ll handle this by ourselves.”
“OK,” said Jennifer. “If you can’t accept help from my family, then ask your father for help. It’s about time he did something.”
Adam stopped pacing and stared at Jennifer. “I’ll get a job,” he said softly.
“How can you get a job?” asked Jennifer. “Every second you’re awake you’re either studying or at the hospital.”
“I’ll take a leave from school,” said Adam.
Jennifer’s mouth dropped open. “You can’t leave school. I’ll get another job.”
“Sure,” said Adam. “What kind ofjob? Cocktail waitress? Be serious, Jennifer. I don’t want you working while you’re pregnant.”
“Then I’ll get an abortion,” said Jennifer defiantly.
Adam wheeled around so that he was facing his wife. Slowly he raised his hand and pointed his index flnger at her nose. “You’re not going to get an abortion. I don’t even want to hear that word.”
“Then go to your father,” said Jennifer.
Adam clenched his teeth. “We wouldn’t have to go to anybody if you just didn’t get yourself pregnant.”
The tears that Jennifer had been holding back all day ran down her cheeks. “It takes two, you know. I didn’t do this by myself,” she said, and broke into sobs.
“You told me not to worry about babies,” snapped Adam, ignoring her tears. “You said that was your department. You did a great job!”
Jennifer didn’t even try to answer. Choking, she ran into the bedroom and slammed the door.
For a moment Adam stared after her. He felt sick. His mouth was dry from all the wine he’d drunk. He looked at the cluttered table with the remains of their dinner spread out in front of him. He didn’t have to look into the kitchen. He already knew what condition it was in. The apartment was a mess, and it seemed frighteningly symbolic of his life.
CHAPTER 4
Dr. Lawrence Foley pulled into his long winding driveway. The rambling stone mansion was still out of sight when he pressed the button that opened the garage door. Rounding the final group of elms, he could see the towers silhouetted against the night sky. The neo-Gothic castle in Greenwich had been built in the early twenties by an eccentric millionaire who’d lost everything in the crash of 1929 and blown his brains out with an elephant gun.
Laura Foley was in the upstairs sitting room when she heard the Jaguar enter the garage. At her feet, Ginger, their apricot toy poodle, lifted his head and growled as if he were a guard dog. Tossing aside the book she was reading, she looked up at the clock. It was quarter to ten and she was furious. She’d made dinner for eight o’clock, but Larry had never bothered to call to say he was going to be late. It was the sixth time he’d done that this month. If she’d told him once, she’d told him a hundred times to call. That was all she asked. She knew doctors had emergencies, but phoning only took a minute.
Sitting on the couch, Laura contemplated what she should do. She could stay where she was and let Larry fend for himself in the kitchen, though she’d tried that before with no results. Until recently, her husband had been sensitive to her moods. But for some reason, ever since he’d come back from his medical meeting four months ago, he’d been generally cold and inconsiderate.
Noises drifted up the back stairs from the kitchen, suggesting that Larry was already making himself something to eat. Not bothering to come and say hello added insult to injury. Laura lifted her legs off the hassock, wiggled her toes into her sandals, and stood up. Walking over to a gilt frame mirror, she peered at herself. For fifty-six she looked pretty darn good. But over the last eight weeks Larry had shown absolutely no sexual interest in her. Could that be the reason for his new burst of professional enthusiasm? It had taken Larry and Clark Vandermer twenty years to build their practice to the point where they could concentrate on gynecology rather than obstetrics. And then Larry had thrown it all away. After coming back from that medical meeting, he’d calmly announced that he’d quit GYN Associates and had accepted a salaried position at the Julian Clinic. At the time Laura had been so stupefied that she’d been unable to respond. And since joining the Julian Clinic, Larry had been taking on more obstetrical cases, even though he got the same salary no matter how hard he worked.
A crash interrupted Laura’s thoughts. That was another problem. Larry had become clumsy of late, as well as having lapses of attention. Laura wondered if he were on the verge of some sort of breakdown.
Deciding that it was time to confront her husband, Laua straightened her robe and started down the back stairs. Ginger followed at her heels.
She found Larry at the kitchen counter, eating a large sandwich and reading a medical journal. He’d taken off his jacket and had thrown it over the back of a chair. When he heard her enter, he looked up. His face had that curious slackness it had developed in recent weeks.
“Hello, dear,” he said in a flat tone.
Laura stood at the foot of the stairs, allowing her anger to build. Her husband looked at her for a moment, then went back to his journal.